


run with the hunted

by boshums



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-15 11:27:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5783644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boshums/pseuds/boshums
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Besides for keeping his head down and the monotonous process of placing one foot in front of the other, the lack of water had really been the only thing on his mind until they found themselves blinking in the forest shade.</p><p>And then, well, Grounders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> > like the fox  
> I run with the hunted  
> and if I'm not  
> the happiest man  
> on earth  
> I'm surely the  
> luckiest man  
> alive.  
> \- from “My Doom Smiles at Me” by Charles Bukowski
> 
> Real shit accompanying playlist here: http://8tracks.com/smob/run-with-the-hunted
> 
>  
> 
> This is not beta-read or edited at all, really, so mistakes are mine and mine alone. Criticize everything, please. Additionally, I am neither Kass Morgan nor am I a member of The 100 Writers, so these are not my characters; this is fanfiction. 
> 
>  
> 
> This is also violently Jossed with the S3 / is an AU after S2.

1.

He didn’t know what was going on. The Grounders had found them in the woods almost as soon as they had crossed out of the desert, dazed and blinking from both weariness and the drastic change in light. 

Jaha had returned to the beach and Murphy’s lighthouse with a renewed fervor, a fire lit within his eyes that made Murphy itch with the need to have never left with the former Chancellor in the first place. They had filled extra water bottles and, on the theory that whatever was in the water waited until dusk, night, or dawn to begin hunting, waited until mid-morning the next day before departing in one of the other ramshackle rafts. 

Even if Murphy hadn’t been able to see the vestiges of the other shore across the water, he wouldn’t have had to worry about getting lost at sea; a done flew slowly and suspiciously close throughout the duration of their journey, and Murphy caught Jaha nodding whenever the elder man looked at it. 

Murphy would have commented on Thelonious’ further descent into lunacy, but at that point the blood loss in combination with the physical exertion of rowing and the thought of all the floating _walking_ took the wind out of his metaphorical sails. Judgmental staring and emphatic sighing, however, were still well within his repertoire.

The only benefit to the drone guide,in Murphy’s opinion, was that they made it to the far shore with plenty of daylight left, and were able to wade through the nerve-wracking mine field before - well, before sitting down in the sand for the night. Murphy hardly remembered the days that followed beyond wondering how two people with double the ration of water between them managed to run out of supplies so quickly. Besides for keeping his head down and the monotonous process of placing one foot in front of the other, the lack of water had really been the only thing on his mind until they found themselves blinking in the forest shade. 

And then, well, Grounders. 

"We thought you Sky People, but now you come out of the Dead Zone,” the one with the really pointy sword said. “Have you switched allegiance? To whom do you report? What tribe?"

"The Tribe of Man,” he heard Jaha respond from where he was kneeling alongside him, and Murphy frigging - wanted to bash his head in with a rock. 

God, the level of crazy. His plan, once he thought to form one, had been to hang back, let Jaha do the talking and keep the Grounder's attention off of him; Murphy recognized this Camp and some of the faces in it, and the recollection did not bring good memories. To have any hope of getting out of here again, however...

"Bellamy," Murphy said, interrupting anything the Grounders could have said in response to Jaha's insanity. The Trikru’s attention immediately snapped to him, and Murphy licked his lips, eyes darting from Grounder to Grounder. "I belong with Bellamy." 

"Belomi?" came a voice from behind the Grounder who had identified herself as Lexa to Murphy's left, and the crowd shifted so as to let the speaker - a tall, slender girl - pass through. The girl walked with her head high, Murphy noted, but held an arm around her middle as if it were tender. "You say you know the one called Belomi?" 

"Belong," Lexa repeated. Her lidded gaze made Murphy regret speaking, and he felt as if his skin were crawling as Lexa stared at him before her attention refocused on Jaha. 

"And you, of course, I remember." She gazed at the Chancellor with what Murphy felt was decidedly more hostility than she had when looking at him; maybe nobody had told her about his being in attendance for the fiasco between Finn and the Woods Clan camp.

"I did nothing - " Thelonious began, drawing himself up to his full height whilst kneeling, chest forward, to deliver what Murphy imagined would have been a _stunning_ defense. 

"Silence," Lexa said, her jaw snapping. "With Clarke no longer staying in the Sky Camp, I am less inclined to curry favor with your people by returning you to them. Bellamy, however..." Lexa trailed off as her gaze returned to Murphy; ”Having something of his... would be good." 

Murphy felt the bottom drop out of his stomach in a low swoop. Shit, fuck, fuck - he should have said Clarke; should have said any name other than Bellamy’s. Bellamy had made it abundantly clear that he would never be coerced into something for Murphy’s sake. Murphy was under no illusion that Jaha only brought him along for the return trip in case he needed a sacrifice, but now Murphy had screwed them both over - they would have been better off if Murphy had said Kane’s name. He’d given Bellamy’s, though, and now they were going to be left for torture. Murphy clenched his bound hands together to focus on the pain that radiated from his sliced arm rather than the way his body was beginning to shudder in remembrance. 

"I will go to the Skaikru, Commander," the willowy girl from earlier said, bringing a fisted hand to the shoulder across her chest with a slight bow, "if you approve. Belomi helped us in the Mountain, and I would like to help return his people to him." 

"Echo," Lexa acknowledged. "Take a unit with you. Cage them," she continued, indicating Murphy and the former Chancellor with a flick of her wrist, "until the Sky People come." The matter concluded, Lexa turned her attention to other concerns as Grounders moved to carry out her orders. The mention of cages, however, spiked an immediate fear response in Murphy. 

“Jaha!” he shouted. “They’ll want - they named our camp after him,” Murphy said, tongue almost tripping over the words in his haste to get them out; he could hear how high and thin his voice had gone, but nudged his chin towards the former Chancellor regardless. “They’ll want to know he’s here too.”

Lexa made a scornful, disagreeing sound. “They’ve done well enough without his influence - better, I would say, than if your _Chancellor_ ,” she sneered, “had been present. No. We will not relay who it is we hold.” 

Murphy swallowed thickly two or three times, Lexa’s heavy glare towards Thelonious affirming that he had made a miscalculation somewhere - not that he could fault the crazy Grounder for her good taste. Just, you know: Torture. 

Lexa stood from her throne of sticks and started walking away, the retainer of important-looking Grounders following behind her. “Make sure, Echo, to mention a renewal of our treaty with the Sky People while you discuss those we’ve found. I will be in the War Tent.” 

The remaining Grounders started into motion at Lexa’s dismissal and the whole area was a swarm of bodies. Murphy felt his chest constrict and his breathing go quick and shallow even though no one had touched him. Panting, Murphy stared hard at the Grounder - the that had done the talking with Finn - coming towards him, and he jerked his head around to get the hair out of his eyes before he realized it was black spots appearing in his vision, not hair. A panic attack; this was - he was having a panic attack. Shit, shit, fuck - he saw the Grounder’s hand coming at him out of the corner of his eyes, and twitched away. 

He twitched a little too sharply, considering his hands and feet were tied. Murphy felt it as he tripped backwards, and a sharp pain pierced through his head as he landed. Everything from that point on was a little hazy.

======

The Roman Emperor Octavius Augustus had been an amazing man. Augustus transformed Rome and ushered in the Pax Romana; a true leader if ever there was one, but Bellamy had never considered himself to be following in Augustus’ footsteps. 

Bellamy had named Octavia after Augustus' younger sister because he had wanted everyone to know how powerful and noble she was. Even when she had been a baby wriggling in his arms, Bellamy knew that Octavia was meant for the all respect and admiration given to her namesake by Rome - and she had shown them. 

O was glorious; her spirit as spit-fire sure as her namesake, her strength of character as true, and her loyalty unwavering. Octavia didn’t remind him of a Grounder, even though she dressed like them and smeared their war paint on her face; to Bellamy, she looked like an Amazon warrior, noble, strong, and true. 

It had never been more apparent to Bellamy that he did not emulate his Roman counterpart in that sibling pair. He had failed these kids from the moment they had crashed onto Earth, even before the Grounders could get ahold of them. Bellamy had thought only of his own circumstance, only of what would happen to himself if and when the rest of the Ark followed the delinquents down - and what was worse, he had thought of them all as criminals, all 100, without even entertaining the idea otherwise. 

Maybe if Bellamy had spent less time worrying about keeping Octavia away from those he'd considered unworthy and more time concerned with the good of a group of kids, they... Well. Who knew. 

What was almost more infuriating than his failings, however, was living at Camp Jaha - at _Arkadia_ , and wasn’t that ridiculous - and seeing what was left of his people be treated as miscreants. Even seated as he was at the entrance to his tent in the early morning, Bellamy saw the clear delineation between the original 100 and the rest of the surviving Arkers - and some of the remaining thirty-seven had parents within the larger group, parents who still kept their distance. They had all been through a traumatic experience, Bellamy thought, rubbing his hands up his face and into his hair, giving it a slight tug; they shouldn't be made to feel like the criminalized Other on a planet they’d been sent to first. 

If it weren't for their inexperience - or the fact that most of these kids hadn't been to school since having been locked up - Bellamy would suggest that they leave Arkadia to start their own village. But for all their ingenuity, they were all kids under 18 when they'd been placed on the Dropship, and there were just some things only training and experience could teach. 

Bellamy had no doubt that Raven and that new guy, Wick, could have eventually rigged up the communal shower - with hot water, no less - that the Arkers had developed while the fiasco at Mount Weather was unfolding, but it would have been a process of trial and error, a waste of parts and resources in experimentation where they could not afford it. 

“Bellamy!” Octavia’s voice broke through his brooding and the domestic noises of the Camp, and Bellamy snapped around to see his sister and Monroe jogging towards him. Bellamy frowned further as he remembered that O and Monroe were the two Delinquents scheduled to cover sentry duty at the gate alongside the Ark’s own rotation. As they got closer, Bellamy could see that they both still had the guns assigned those on sentry duty, and he stood up to meet them. 

“Lexa’s finally made her move,” Monroe relayed. “There’s a squad of Grounders that appeared at the Gate, and the girl that spoke,” she continued, glancing at a smirking Octavia as if for confirmation, “asked for you by name, not Abby. We came for you immediately, but a few of the Arkers left at the same time for the Chancellor and Kane.” 

There were many benefits to the Delinquents keeping their tents closer to Arkadia’s entrance, and Octavia and Monroe being able to more quickly reach Bellamy than the Ark Guards were able to reach the Chancellor was just one of them. 

“Let's go,” Bellamy fell into line between the two women, the three of them walking abreast around the Camp and back to where the Grounders - lead by Echo, Bellamy realized; the woman from the Mountain - stood detained by a mix of Ark and Delinquent guards. 

“Echo,” Bellamy nodded at the Grounder in recognition, and cast a wary gaze at the armed warriors that flanked her. “To what do we owe the honor?”

“You helped us in the Mountain,” Echo intoned, her lightly accented English different from Lincoln’s but still clear, “and we of the Azgeda repay our debts. You will have your men back as we had ours, Belomi Blake. That is why we are here.” 

“Our men. There are other survivors? Did you find a crash site?” 

“Two of the Skaïkru came out from the Dead Zone: Mofi and Jaha. We found no others, but Mofi told us he was yours, and I…” Echo trailed off with a questioning tilt to her head as Bellamy blinked in reaction to her report. “Is this not true?”

“No, it’s true,” Bellamy responded after a pause, digesting the news that Murphy and Jaha were not only alive, but that Murphy had identified himself as one of them. “Murphy is one of us, one of ours.” 

Echo looked hard at Bellamy before continuing with a slower intonation. “The Commander has allowed me to be the one to tell you we have found your people, to return them to you as we in the Mountain were returned. The Commander would discuss terms of the treaty made before the Mountain when the Skaikru comes.” 

“She’s holding them hostage,” Bellamy said, more an attempt to interpret the meaning behind Echo’s presence than an accusation. 

“No,” Echo replied in a calm, firm tone. “Leksa will return your men to you regardless. Their coming from the Dead Zone will lead to thoughts that you are trying to reach an agreement with the Wastelanders,” she continued slowly, “but I do not think this is the case now.” 

Echo furrowed her brows and gave Bellamy an assessing up-and-down glance. “I will tell my Queen,” she spoke slowly, as if making a decision as the words came out of her mouth, “what Leksa and her people are saying, but I will also relay what I have seen.” Echo paused again and turned to take in all of Camp Ja - all of Arkadia for the first time. Bellamy watched as a frown developed across Echo’s features while she took in the two camps, the forty-six and the Ark survivors, that made up Arkadia. 

“I do not think your people were sent to the outcasts, Belomi Blake,” she commented when her gaze returned to him, “and I will not let my Queen think so either. You will need to be cautious when you speak to the Commander.” 

“Thank you for letting us know,” Bellamy acknowledged, already trying to imagine who Abby and Kane would send to meet with Lexa and assessing who of his own people would best help manage the Coalition without losing any footing within their own Camp. The forty-six had been fighting a war on two sides ever since the Mountain, and now the Grounders have come out of hibernation. Bellamy would need Monroe, he thought, but Octavia and Jasper… 

“Belomi,” Echo spoke his name sharply, attracting his attention from where it was drifting towards politics and chain of command, as was presumably her desire. “Mofi did not say he belonged to the Skaikru,” she said at a lower volume, “he said he belonged with _you_.”

Bellamy nodded again and turned, perplexed anew at the personal emphasis but already scanning the gathered crowd for Kane’s face. He had just spotted the elder Miller when he felt what must of been Echo’s hand grab his bicep and he turned to face her again with raised eyebrows. 

“They will not thank you for the Mountain, Belomi. You have rescued us and defeated an old enemy, and for that I thank you, but they will not thank you,” she emphasized. “The Kru are gathered under Leksa in name only; what the Commander is attempting is fragile, and Polis is allowing it because they can.” 

Echo squeezed her grip on Bellamy’s arm and her gaze flittered between each of his eyes, checking, Bellamy guessed, for his understanding. If things had been different, Bellamy thought as he and Echo stared in calm contemplation of each another, Echo could have been a real friend, and a welcome one at that. Rather than buoying him up, the knowledge of what could have been made Bellamy feel explicitly sad, and Echo’s gaze softened as his fell. 

“Polis will not thank you, Belomi,” she repeated herself slowly, her stare turned piercing and direct. “And the Ice Nation will thank you least of all.” 

And the thing was, Bellamy understood what Echo wasn’t saying; in a sense, it was something he had known without knowing before she had even said anything. Strategically, the enemy of your enemy was only your friend until the threat was gone - especially when you were the reason that threat was gone. The forty-six and the rest of the surviving Arkers may have had the threads of a treaty with the Coalition, but the control Lexa had over her army was tenuous at best and Polis was bigger than whatever peace Lexa could dream. 

Bellamy gave the slightest of nods to Echo, 

“Atohl will remain at your gate to escort you to the Commander’s camp,” she said, “I am returning to my Queen from here.” Echo stepped backwards and brought a fist up to her opposite shoulder. “ _Mebi oso na hit choda op nodotaim_ ,” she said. “May we meet again, Belomi Blake.”

Bellamy watched as Echo turned on her heel and led the warriors that’d accompanied her back through Arkadia; he watched, contemplating her words and the fact that she’d warned him at all, until Echo and the unit under her command exited through the gates and vanished into the forest. 

When he could no longer see any trace of the Grounders, Bellamy inhaled deeply through his nose and, upon exhale, turned to head towards where he’d seen Sargent Miller. They had a rescue to plan, or at least an extraction, and he had a feeling he’d need to send one of the forty-six to retrieve Clarke. 

======

In the end, Bellamy had sent Mel, who’d taken Sterling’s place in honor of his sacrifice and who was shit at aiming a gun but ace at running through the forest, out ahead to get Clarke. By the time Kane and the Ark crew was ready to go, Mel had had enough time that she and Clarke were waiting along the path Atohl was leading them. 

Athol’s presence kept Kane, who Abby sent in her sted, and Clarke from exchanging more than polite greetings and loaded looks. Bellamy and Clarke had said everything that needed saying to each other after the mess of Mount Weather, so it wasn’t until it became apparent that Athol was leading them towards what would remain of TonDC that they exchanged anything beyond the briefest of nods. 

Their path through what was TonDC was clear but lined with Grounders from various tribes. Bellamy had another moment’s worry that this had been a trap, something he’d expressed back at Camp, despite his faith in Echo’s good will. Bellamy pursed his lips in remembrance over how his worries - his valid, strategic worries, never mind if he were playing devil’s advocate - had been dismissed because “It’s Thelonious, Blake. Even if it is a trap we still need to know.” 

Bellamy at least had back-up from Chief Miller when discussion turned to whether or not they should walk into Lexa’s Camp armed, and he looked towards Miller and Monroe, along with the rest of the guards, now. Everyone in the retainer looked ready without seeming aggressive, and Bellamy relaxed a smidge; their relations with the Grounders since Mt. Weather had been tense, but this, Lexa wanting to meet and returning those she considered Skaikru, was a step towards the positive. Bellamy could appreciate just how poorly the Arkers and forty-six would do against Grounder forces, guns or no, and he didn’t want a war. 

Kane and Clarke stepped forward as the group from Arkadia drew closer to Lexa’s war chair, and the figure of the former Chancellor standing alongside it became clear. Jaha’s hands were tied in front of him, Bellamy noted after a quick once-over, but there didn’t appear to be any obvious wounds. Bellamy could tell the moment Kane registered the ex-Chancellor’s presence, and as Councilman called out and hurried his steps further, Bellamy frowned at the distinct lack of Murphy. 

“It is good to see you, old friend, and you, Commander,” Kane greeted from where he’d stopped just before Lexa. As a grin stretched across his face, Bellamy could tell that Kane had wanted to embrace Jaha, but common sense and the hand Miller had placed on Kane’s shoulder had encouraged some discretion. At least someone was paying attention to Jaha’s tied wrists, Bellamy thought. 

“We thank you, Lexa, for finding and returning our people; they have been missing for quite some time and it is good to see them alive and safe.” 

“Alive and safe,” Lexa parroted. “Yes, as you can see,” she used the dagger in her hand to indicate Jaha’s presence beside her, “your people are here. Why they have come from the Dead Zone, we would like to know and these your people,” Lexa stressed, “have refused to answer such a reasonable question. Perhaps you would care to share.” 

“We were of the notion that you had rescued our people,” Kane responded in a tone that steamrolled over and ignored Lexa’s insinuations. Bellamy hadn’t shared Echo’s warning with the Ark portion of Arkadia, so either Kane and Abby guessed what Lexa and her War Table would think after finding Sky Crew within the Dead Zone or Kane was being genuine and naive.

“You expect us to believe your people - people we have known came from the Skaikru and not from one of your fallen clusters - wandered purposelessly into the Dead Zone?” 

“They had left to find one of what you call our fallen clusters,” Kane lied to Lexa’s face, staring not at her, but at Jaha. “That they return at all - and that you have helped return them to us - is success enough.”

Lexa’s upper lip lifted in a faux snarl, unwilling or unable to call Kane out but clearly disbelieving his story. Using the blade in her hand to once again indicate Jaha, she flicked her wrist in a dismissive motion; “Release him.”

“We were told you had two of our people,” Bellamy said as he side-eyed Jaha’s swift reunion with Kane. 

Lexa, who, Bellamy noticed, had been staring at Clarke, turned to Bellamy with a sneer. “Yes, there were two. The second one is a coward,” she spat the word. “ _Jak honon ot_!”

Without much ado, Murphy was little more than drug out into the clearing and shoved at Bellamy. Bell moved so Murphy wouldn’t hit the rifle, but the other still hit hard, landing with an oomph against his chest. Bellamy rearranged his grip on the rifle, wary, now, over the violence, inadvertently enveloped Murphy between his arms with the movement. Though he didn’t look down at the younger teen, Bellamy felt as Murphy’s hands scrabbled for purchase, and he was aware of the other’s body shaking against his own. 

"I didn't - I didn't tell them anything, Bellamy!" Murphy choked out, voice thick with panic. "I didn't tell them! They didn't make me! Don't leave - don't leave me,” he let out a soft, wet-sounding moan. 

"Shit,” Bellamy glanced down, not wanting to take his eyes off the Grounders, allies or not, but admittedly alarmed. “Murphy? Murphy, snap out of it, I got you - hey!" Bellamy dropped the rifle, trusting the strap to keep it from falling, and grabbed Murphy around his waist as the his legs buckled. 

“What did your people do to him, Lexa?” Clarke bit out, addressing the Grounder from where she was perched atop her throne. 

“We did nothing,” Lexa growled, tilting her chin up further. “They came to us dry; Nyko was able to treat your other man, but this one,” Lexa gestured, breaking her staring contest with Clarke to turn towards Murphy and locking gazes with Bellamy in the process, “this one refused our aid.” 

Bellamy kept eye-contact with Lexa as he shuffled Murphy around in his arms to stand up straight. 

“He also,” Nyko interjected, drawing Bellamy's attention as the healer shifted in place, “reacted poorly when we attempted to place him into the prisoner cells and may have hit his head in his struggles.” 

Bellamy followed Nyko’s gaze to a grouping of rudimentary stick-and-twine cages, his mind immediately flashing back to when Murphy had told them about his escape from the Grounder camp. These weren’t the same cages - those were probably in the same crater as the rest of TonDC - but they were similar enough, Bellamy reasoned. 

Bellamy swallowed hard and remembered how badly beaten and bloody Murphy had been when he’d returned to the Dropship. Bellamy may have been forcibly decontaminated with burning chemicals and hung from his feet to bleed, but the Grounders had methodically tortured Murphy - for days. Bellamy had a visceral flashback to Clarke holding up Murphy’s hands and saying that they had been pulling out his fingernails, and he suddenly wanted to be back at Camp Jaha, finished with this whole charade. 

“He has been without water for too long while in the Dead Zone,” Nyko continued; “he did not hit his head hard, but such wounds sometimes disorient people and make them act...” Nyko paused and glanced at Murphy with more than a little disgust, "emotional. But - "

“Is this not also the one we turned traitor to your people?” the woman at Lexa’s side whom Octavia had apprenticed under, Indra, interspersed; “Why do you come for one who betrayed you?”

Murphy, who had been hiding quietly in the crook of Bellamy’s neck, pushed himself harder into Bellamy’s hold and his grip on Bellamy’s jacket turned clutching. 

“It is already apparent that the Kongeda and the Skaikru have different views on the punishment of our people,” Clarke prevaricated after sharing a look with Bellamy. “I was led to understand you also wanted to discuss the alliance you broke,” she added. “I’m listening.” 

“We are listening,” Kane interjected, “and as I am sent as the Commander’s Second,” he stressed, “it will be me that will discuss our alliance.” 

Lexa scowled, clearly unimpressed, but it was a valid comment and followed the Grounder’s societal rules more than their own and she couldn’t argue with it - and nor could Clarke. 

“Blake,” Kane commanded, “accompany the former Chancellor and Mr. Murphy back to Arkadia - the former Camp Jaha,” he explained as an aside to Thelonious with a conspiratorial smile. “We thought you would appreciate the illusion.” 

“An unspoiled, harmonious utopia,” Thelonious avowed. “I can think of nothing better.”

As Bellamy went to rearrange Murphy into a piggyback, he had to nearly pry the other’s fingers from where they were clenched onto his clothing. 

“Lean forward and arms around my neck, Murphy,” Bell murmured. “Clarke?”

“I’m coming with you,” came Clarke’s response, though she kept her gaze locked with Lexa’s. Bellamy had a moment to acknowledge that something loaded was passing between the two before Murphy for once listened unquestionably to an order and the slighter teen’s body was stretched along the entire length of Bellamy’s back. 

Sparing the two women an uneasy glance, Bellamy breathed heavily out his nose before he bent at the knees to cross his arms back under Murphy’s thighs and scooped the other up onto his back as Bellamy rose. Murphy kept his head buried in Bellamy’s neck, the shift placing the his mouth underneath Bell’s ear, and with the new hold Murphy’s soft crying and hitching breath reminded Bellamy too much of comforting a younger Octavia. 

“We got this. Blake, Thelonious," Kane said, "go, get out of here.”

Bellamy turned to catch Sergeant Miller’s eyes, and, after a quick, reassuring nod from the guard captain, lead the way into the forest without hesitation.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _like the fox_  
>  _I run with the hunted_  
>  _and if I'm not_  
>  _the happiest man_  
>  _on earth_  
>  _I'm surely the_  
>  _luckiest man_  
>  _alive._  
>  \- from “My Doom Smiles at Me” by Charles Bukowski
> 
>  
> 
> Real shit accompanying playlist here: http://8tracks.com/smob/run-with-the-hunted
> 
> \---
> 
> Again, nothing is edited and it is all my fault. Please someone do the thing if they see any unforgivable mistakes, thank you.

2\. 

"I could not have made it without John Murphy," Thelonious boasted as they trekked their way back to Camp, the note of pride in Murphy standing out and rankling. 

"Speaking of John Murphy," Thelonious continued, as if Murphy wasn't breathing quick, in-in-out patterns into the space underneath Bell’s ear; "I understand that he was unjustly hung for the murder of my son." 

There was heavy censure in the ex-Chancellor's voice, and Bellamy swept his gaze to the side to share a glance with Clarke.

"There's a lot we regret about when we first landed, much the same as any in leadership," Bellamy replied slowly, aiming toward democracy.

"Not at all! Leadership isn't about regret. We had Laws upon the Ark,” Jaha stressed, “and the Laws begat order. You here, when you landed on the ground you had chaos, and from _that_ ," Jaha said, slapping his thigh for emphasis, "stems regret. You needed us here alongside you all along."

Bellamy clenched his jaw to keep from snapping out his immediate answer, and Murphy, no doubt sensing the tension radiating off Bellamy, repositioned himself on Bellamy’s back and tightened his hold as he shifted to push his face deeper into Bellamy's neck.

“Never mind the fact that you sent us here to die - what did you think was going to happen?” Clarke asked rhetorically in an incredulous tone. “You sent kids, kids that had been jailed, isolated without any education or knowledge of how to survive, down here. How do you think this would work out? Getting used to being outside of prison confines alone would have been challenging, and that’s not even touching upon the psychological trauma of being on Earth, alone and - ”

“Clarke,” Bellamy whispered, cutting her off and shaking his head silently when she turned to look at him askance. 

“Now that we are on Earth,” Thelonious continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “it is our duty, our _destiny_ , to lead our people back into greatness. With the City of Light, we could reconnect and build anew, bringing all of those on the Ground into prosperity and recreate a global village that is better and smarter than before. 

“Think of it, Clarke,” Jaha sermoned, spanning his hands out in front of him as he looked to the forested canopy above, as if encompassing the world he imagined. “The future your father imagined, a true Arcadia back here on Earth where we were _meant_ to return.” 

Clarke exchanged a wide-eyed expression with Bellamy. 

“The Grounders want nothing to do with us,” Clarke explained in a smooth, quiet tone, the banked anger in her voice from the mention of her father or at Jaha himself making her words come out steely. 

“They shall be persuaded otherwise,” was Jaha’s blithe reply. “Ours was the only generation that could return to the Earth and we have fought too hard, I have fought too hard, for it to mean anything less.”

“You don’t understand,” Clarke bit out. “They don’t just want nothing to do with us, they want us dead. They see our coming to Earth as an _invasion_. They’ve been living here the entire time we were up on the Ark; they have culture, a society with _rules_ , and strictly designated territories. Even if you made it to Polis and convinced the nations, you would still have to battle against nearly a century's worth of politics and discrimination between warring tribes.”

“It is a challenge, but it is not insurmountable,” Jaha allowed. “It will be my life’s work.”

“You’re insane,” Clarke exclaimed, nonplused, as she turned a disbelieving stare Bellamy’s way. 

“It will happen, Clarke, and I will see it happen in our lifetime. I will,” he affirmed. “I have faith. We did not make it down here against all odds just to survive.” 

Murphy sighed into the silence that came after, and his hot breath hitting the crook of Bellamy’s neck almost caused Bell to drop the other in his surprise - he’d been pretty sure Murphy had passed out. 

“This was a really great talk, you guys,” Murphy breathed into the quiet. “Lets literally never bring it up again.” 

Conversation didn’t pick back up after Murphy’s comment, and they continued in silence until they were about a click away from Arkadia. Clarke stopped as if unable to cross a line visible only to her, and Bellamy paused to share a look with her as Jaha, who hadn’t noticed Clarke detach from formation, trundled along. He knew there was nothing he could say to convince her back to Camp, though he did wonder if she knew just how badly he was handicapped without her. They nodded at one another before he turned back towards the path; by the time he looked over his shoulder after catching up to Jaha, she was gone. 

======

“You’re exceedingly lucky I had the others raid what medical supplies they could from Mount Weather as we left,” Abigail said as she finished wrapping Murphy’s arm. “That saline drip is the only reason we were able to rehydrate you so quickly. You'll still need plenty of fluids," she admonished, "but you should be completely fine within a few days, and the antibiotics will take care of the slight infection in your arm. We wouldn't have been able to ration out this high of a dosage without the Mount Weather haul, however." 

Bellamy felt the weight of the words behind Abby's last statement and knew that she was again pressing her opinion that they should return to the Mountain. It was a point she had been making for the past week; whatever else Mount Weather represented, Abby argued, it had supplies. Abby had known none of the forty-six would want to go back, Bellamy imagined, keeping his face clear of emotion as he gazed at the materials amassed in the ad-hoc medbay, but she had had medical supplies brought back to what was still then Camp Jaha to use as leverage to get the Arkers onto her side. Abigail Griffin wanted to move Arkadia into Mount Weather, and the popular opinion amongst the adults - amongst the Arkers - was swaying in her favor. 

“You are in much rougher condition than Thelonious, Mr. Murphy, and whomever wrapped your wound originally,” she tisked, “did not do a very good job. We would never have had to reopen the wound if it was done correctly.” 

Bellamy tightened the grip he had over his crossed arms and turned, lips pierced, to face the wall as Murphy grunted in response to the probing. Abby couldn’t yet interrogate Murphy directly, and wouldn’t at all if Bellamy had his way or Jaha cooperated to the Chancellor’s liking, but that clearly wasn’t stopping her from attempting to get a sense of what had happened from an exhausted Murphy. 

Abby had tried the same on Jaha while giving him a cursory examination before seeing to Murphy; Bellamy had imagined politics between the Ark survivors and the forty-six to be the height of difficulty, but whatever issues laid between Abby and the former Chancellor tipped his previous frame of reference. Watching the battle of wills and polite non-answers exchanged had been illuminating for Bellamy, especially if the interaction was indicative of what Council meetings were like on the Ark.

“And the best part,” he heard Abby remark, “is there’s no sign of the flu in sight.” Bellamy frowned and turned his attention back towards the exam table, confused. One glance at Murphy’s face, however, and Bell instinctively stepped forward, placing himself between Murphy's spread legs but effectively barricading the younger boy from whatever Abby had been intimating. 

"I can finish this up," Bellamy reached out to take the hand Abby still loosely held and kept his tone calm as he gazed over his shoulder. "You must want to check up on the former Chancellor, Chancellor, and I can do up a basic field dressing after Murphy's showered." 

Bell had no idea what the flu had anything to do with anything - you couldn’t get the flu from an infection - but whatever Clarke’s mother was referencing made Murphy go from the wary yet pliant patient he’d been since they’d gotten him to Camp to, just, completely blank. He’d only known Murphy these past few months, but Bellamy had never seen his face completely devoid of emotion and looking at Murphy now raised every defensive hackle in his body. 

"I - well, okay," Abby floundered, her other, gauze-filled hand still held out mid-way towards her patient. "I was thinking on checking in with Thelonious again." Abby glanced between Murphy and back towards Bellamy, who tried not to give anything away in his gaze; she and the Arkers had hurt his people enough and he could at the very least shield Murphy from her if no one else. 

"Make sure John is fed, too," she resumed as she turned to busy herself with gathering another spool of gauze and antibiotic cream from the shelf behind her. "And that he has plenty to drink. The saline drip got him out of the danger zone, like I said, but he still needs liquids; water will do best, but get him some of the broth they have over the fire too." 

She put the extra gauze and cream on the table to Murphy's side and slid her empty hands into her coat pockets. Abby looked between them both for a moment, and glanced down at where Bellamy was still holding Murphy's hand before nodding to herself. 

"Alright, boys," she huffed, "they'll have fresh clothes in the laundry tent, Blake, for after. I'll be with Thelonious and Kane if you need me." 

With that parting Abby turned and left, the door swooshing closed behind her, but Bellamy only relaxed when he could no longer hear her footsteps resonating down the Ark’s hall. Bellamy sighed once again and turned to face Murphy fully, giving him an assessing once-over. The kid literally looked like shit and was covered in either sand or dirt besides for where they had scrubbed his arm to check the infection. Shower first, Bellamy thought, giving the hand in his grip a squeeze, and then food. 

"Do you think you can walk, then, or..." It wasn't until he saw the wary, calculating stare Murphy was giving their joined hands that Bellamy realized just how much he had been touching the other in the past few hours. Considering nearly all of their exchanges had been fueled by anger or violence in the past few months, Bellamy understood that caution.

But Bellamy also understood body language; growing up with a sibling, it seemed, was great for one's social awareness, and Bellamy had had extra incentive to do research on isolation and touch-starvation. 

Murphy probably hadn't been touched out of anything but violence or anger since his hanging - since imprisonment on the Ark? Bellamy winced a little at the recollection of just _how many_ of their interactions had ended with the slighter boy bruised and bloodied, but even though he was obviously wary of Bellamy's intentions and flinched a little whenever someone moved their hands too quickly towards his face, Murphy didn't cower. 

Even now as he sat on what passed as the medical exam table with Bellamy physically towering over him, Murphy wasn't tense; he was wary and watched Bellamy with a weary sort of expectancy, but Murphy himself was sitting slouched, shoulders rounded, knees spread, and seemed either oblivious to or uncaring of the fact that Bellamy had stepped into the vee of his legs when he had placed himself as a barrier between Murphy and Abby's words. Murphy looked at Bellamy like someone who hoped for gentleness but expected otherwise, and seeing that directed at himself further served to drive home just how poorly Bellamy had handled his attempt at leadership. 

"Hey," Bellamy whispered, sighing again, and brought his other hand around to tap Murphy's knee. "Walking: yes or no?"

Murphy licked his lips, eyes half-mast with obvious exhaustion. Murphy couldn't seem to make direct eye-contact, his gaze trailing to Bell's forehead or cheek before sliding away. It reminded Bellamy of seatbelts, and if he hadn't already forgiven Murphy at the cliff, then he would have now. 

"That depends," Murphy croaked, throat probably still dry from the desert; "if I can't, are you going to try and carry me again?"

Bellamy shrugged. "Probably." 

Murphy glanced up between his lashes, locking gazes with Bellamy for a moment before he turned his head and held his arms out above Bellamy’s shoulders in a motion Bell recognized from his days raising Octavia as a request to be lifted. "Okay." 

The distance between the medbay and the showers was minimal once they got outside, so rather than rearrange them back into a piggyback, Bellamy stepped closer into the vee of Murphy’s legs. Coming chest to chest with the other brunette and bending at the knee to scoop Murphy up, Bellamy navigated around the corridors of the wreckage, readjusting Murphy’s weight every once in awhile to get the other to push the release panels on the pneumatic doors in their path. 

When they exited Alpha Station Bellamy was greeted by a fidgeting Octavia in full Grounder face-paint standing beside the ramp. Octavia gave the pair of them a quick up-and-down look and rolled her eyes before walking closer. 

“Here,” she said, shoving a bundle of cloth into Bellamy’s side without preamble. He angled an elbow down to pin the cloth to his side and gave O an admonishing look while Murphy detangled a hand to help keep everything from falling. 

“Madame Chancellor _suggested_ that I bring you both a change of clothes and a clean towel,” Octavia bared her teeth in a smile. “I have sentry again later. Someone has been rigging the shift changes; you may want to think about that while you’re dealing with your,” her gaze shifted to Murphy’s back, “other… thing.”

Bellamy hummed, agreeing without saying anything outright. “Could you stop by the by the mess and bring a bowl of soup by our tent for later?” he asked as he hitched Murphy up further onto his hip, his weight growing more noticeable now that they weren’t in motion. Bell looked up from where he was rearranging his hold on everything when he heard Octavia give a laughing scoff to see his sister turning around to walk away. 

“I don’t fetch and carry, Bell!” she called out over her shoulder with a wave and Bellamy smiled as he continued through Camp, knowing Octavia would bring something by the tent later despite her words. 

When they got into the shower tent, Bellamy stripped them both to their underthings and got the water going, positioning Murphy under the spray. With the thought of working from the bottom up, Bellamy crouched down on his haunches, soaped up one of the rags Octavia had provided them, and started working his way down from Murphy’s hips. Once he’d gotten the first swatch of skin clean finishing the rest felt like a compulsion, and he had had to re-soap the rag twice by the time Bellamy reached Murphy’s ankles. 

Washing the other was meditative for Bellamy, even despite the few times he realized the dirt smudge he was trying to erase was just another scar. The sound of the water coming down from the spigot the Ark Survivors had rigged up and hitting the metal floor beneath them was the only thing he could hear and the act of cleaning up one of his own people - Murphy, no less or perhaps especially - was rewarding. 

Bellamy felt quite zen by the time he went to clean the other’s upper body but Murphy, who’d stood docile with his arms wrapped around his chest until now, pushed Bellamy’s hand away when he went to wash the other’s stomach. 

“Murphy,” Bellamy said, exasperated, after a few tries. “You cannot honestly be this much of a brat, come on.”

“Bellamy.”

Bellamy snapped his head up at the choked tone to Murphy’s voice to see the other with his head tilted up, the long line of his neck exposed so water poured directly onto his face. It wasn’t until the body under his hands hitched on a muffled sob that Bellamy realized Murphy was crying, the shower either masking his tears or his body unable to produce them in its dehydrated state. 

Bellamy stood slowly, adjusting his hold to Murphy’s hips to keep the younger up-right. 

“You’re just gonna - Bellamy, you can’t just - don’t do this,” Murphy said. Murphy swallowed hard and turned his head to the side, unable or refusing to look at Bellamy while he spoke. “We both know you don’t care about me, so don’t fucking pretend like this. You can’t - you can’t do this to me again.”

“Murphy,” Bellamy said, at a loss with how to respond to such a gutting assessment of his own character, especially when it resonated so strongly with their personal history. 

Maybe it was having just seen how much Octavia had grown into her strength or maybe it was the memory of children lying dead in Mount Weather, but something in that moment brought Bellamy to the realization that Murphy could be that much of a brat, because Murphy - John Murphy - was a _kid_. He was still a _kid_ ; it wasn’t that Bellamy was that many years older, but Murphy couldn’t be older than eighteen, and only that if he’d had his birthday while they were on the floating ground. _Fuck_ , Bellamy had _hung_ this kid, had sent him into exile and straight into the Grounder camp where he was _tortured_ for _three days_. 

It was enough to make Bellamy queasy and it was more than enough to gentle his hand when he reached up to cradle Murphy’s face in his palm. 

“Murphy, no, shh… It won’t - _I_ won’t be like that again, okay? Hey,” Bellamy tried to turn the other’s head towards him, and ducked down and to the side to catch his gaze when Murphy resisted. 

“Hey,” he repeated, “I won’t. I promise, okay? I’m sorry - I’m so sorry I wasn’t enough, before. I should have stopped them. Hey,” Bellamy said again, stronger, when Murphy’s gaze skitted away at the mention of his hanging. “I should have. I’m sorry.” Bellamy smoothed his thumb over a split cheekbone, and just looked at Murphy as the other sniffed and continued to avoid direct eye-contact. 

He had created this, he had done this; Bellamy had had this person’s trust in the palm of his hand and he had blown it to the wind. Clarke could blame herself or go on tangential rants about Murphy’s aggressive nature all she wanted, but Bellamy knew he was the one responsible. Bellamy had thought of Murphy as a delinquent and had treated him as expendable, had made him _believe_ he was expendable, and Bellamy had broken the other boy, made it so he was ostracized and isolated by the rest of the Hundred, and fuck knows the Arkers and Grounder presence probably hadn’t helped. 

Murphy had been his, utterly; his right-hand man, his to command, his to lead, his to protect, and Bellamy had failed that. Bellamy had exiled, threatened, and beaten Murphy - even in the face of the opens wounds from his torture at the hands of the Woods Clan. 

Bellamy had read a lot of mythology, a lot of stories about heroes and their heroic acts - Octavia had loved mythology, not just because of Bellamy’s own interest, and he could probably recite some of her favorite Greek stories by heart - and he’d had to sometimes, considering how old and worn their copy of _The Odyssey_ back on the Ark had been. The point was, Bellamy knew that in a lot of those ancient tales the heroes were sometimes pretty terrible people in actuality, and he’d never felt the horror of what he’d done more intensely than now. 

“I’m - I’m _so_ sorry, Murphy - John,” Bellamy choked, his voice breaking on the other’s first name. Murphy’s gaze whipped to Bellamy’s with sharp focus at the use of his given name. Bellamy leaned his forehead against Murphy’s and closed eyes against the storm-blue scrutiny as he felt Murphy tentatively curl an arm around his shoulders. “I’m sorry.” 

Bellamy eventually had to move them from the showers. He’d pulled back from the other to stare, rubbing at the bony, coltish angle of Murphy’s elbow as it fell from around his neck with a free hand. He hadn’t finished washing Murphy’s upper torso, but they had stayed underneath the spigot until the water had run cold, and Bellamy figured most of the grime had been washed away. 

"Alright, Johnny,” Bellamy muttered more to himself than Murphy as he turned off the water and gathered the other into his arms, bony elbows and all; “up we get."

Bellamy gave them both a perfunctory wipe-down with the single towel they’d been allowed and wrestled a clearly flagging Murphy into some clothes after dressing himself. The trip between the showers and the tent Bellamy shared with Octavia was shorter but more taxing than the trip between Alpha Station and the showers. Whatever adrenalin had been sustaining Murphy was clearly crashing, and Bellamy, who had been barely subsisting on a diet of low-level anxiety, stress migraines, and constant physical training since Mount Weather, was flagging as well. 

He was tired enough that carrying Murphy, who was wiry but honestly probably taller than Bellamy, was not an option. Bellamy threw one of Murphy’s arms around his neck and lead them on a stumbling path towards his bunk. By the time Octavia swanned in beneath the open tent flap, he had situated Murphy on Bellamy’s own side of the shared space and was just putting away the ad-hoc first aid kit he’d used to redress Murphy’s arm.

“One serving of scaly-panther soup,” Octavia announced, brandishing the bowl with a flourish as Bellamy stood to greet her, “as ordered.” 

“Octavia,” Bellamy breathed out, and he had a moment to register her surprised expression at his relieved and desperate tone before he was enveloping her in a hug. 

“Bellamy?” her voice had gone from a low, teasing sound to a high, worried tone, and he could just picture how her eyebrows would pinch. 

“Fine, I’m fine,” he breathed out, still holding tight. The arm Octavia wasn’t holding the soup in came around his waist, and he inhaled sharply, feeling tears at his guilt and stress prick the corners of his eyes. 

“I can find someone else to cover for me tonight,” she said, a question and concern in her voice. 

“No, I can - no. Just - just wait a minute,” Bellamy responded, moving so his face was buried in the fall of Octavia’s hair and taking a deep inhale to center himself. He felt her one-arm grip squeeze tighter and huffed out a laugh, taking solace in his little sister’s affection. They stayed in that tableau for a minute or two - as long as Bellamy thought he could get away with, considering. Bell took one last, deep breath, exhaling in a shaky stream that he knew Octavia noticed. 

“Alright, O; be careful out there,” Bellamy said into Octavia’s neck, giving her one last squeeze before they both let go. 

“I will, big brother. It’s only sentry duty,” she replied, rolling her eyes and smiling for his benefit, an expression that quickly morphed into a more genuine smirk, “and Lincoln will be with me.”

Bellamy couldn’t help but smile, but playfully pushed her towards the doorway after taking the soup bowl all the same. “Get out of here, you jerk.”

Murphy’s eyes were pink-lined with exhaustion when Bellamy turned to where he’d settled into the mess of blankets that passed for beds, but his gaze, though quickly diverted, burned with greed.

Bellamy kneeled down beside Murphy and handed him the bowl Octavia had delivered, letting his thoughts wander as Murphy took a tentative sip of the broth, though they didn’t stray far. Bell had always had Octavia as a friend and confidant - a built-in friend and confidant, as they were siblings, but a captive one as well, because she couldn’t leave the room. He had never, Bellamy realized, really had a friend of his own choosing; he’d been friendly with the rest of his Cadet class, sure, but that was always with the ulterior motive of being able to cash in favors should he need them to keep O safe. 

He’d never had friends, true friends, while on the Ark, and he was in too much of a leadership position to rely emotionally on any of the forty-six or their accompanying members. But Murphy… Bellamy was too self-aware to be ignorant of the fact that he was all but falling apart under the pressures of leadership without Clarke. He needed someone that wasn’t his little sister or Clarke to lean upon - and Murphy… Bellamy had the feeling that Murphy needed to be needed, needed someone to show that they trusted him in order to feel trustworthy. 

And as he thought it Bellamy realized that he himself needed Murphy to feel as if he had self-worth. Bell had been such a driving force in tearing Murphy apart psychologically and physically, had been responsible for ending so many lives in the past few months, that he needed to play a part in building something - almost more than he needed support himself. Bellamy needed to see Murphy back to being that little shit he was in the first place and Bell’s mother - his mother had always told him that people become what they believe, so Bellamy was going to treat Murphy like his friend until he was. He had kicked the bucket out from beneath Murphy because it was what the people wanted, but he was going to finally become Murphy’s friend because it was what _he_ wanted. As long as Murphy wanted it too.

Bellamy didn’t give voice to any of this. He knew that at this point Murphy wouldn’t believe anything Bellamy told him and figured he would have to lead by action rather than words. So instead of giving a speech after Murphy drank his fill of the soup, Bellamy merely took the bowl to set aside. Bellamy ensured Murphy had enough blankets, and retreated to Octavia’s side of the tent, blowing out the candle as he went to bury himself in the blankets. 

Bellamy could hear Murphy fidgeting as they lay across the tent in the dark, and he was watching when Murphy rolled onto his side to face Bellamy. Bellamy was beginning to feel antsy himself with all the restless movement, and it was a relief when Murphy finally cleared his throat and started speaking. 

“I know I said I wanted you dead, boss, but I really don’t, okay? And I don’t - I don’t want to be a criminal anymore,” Murphy admitted quickly, as if giving voice to something that wasn’t allowed. “Jaha said something about stop thinking like you’re a criminal to stop being treated like one, but I can’t,” he trailed off with a stuttering breath, breaking off to reach his hand into the space between them and continue instead with “what if we just… skipped that.” 

Bellamy spent a long time staring at Murphy after his speech, something that seemed to make the other more and more nervous as the minutes passed without Bellamy responding to his proposal. The fact that Murphy’s speech - the most he’d said since they’d last been in the Drop Ship together - so closely mirrored Bellamy’s earlier thoughts was reassuring; they at the very least told Bellamy that Murphy wanted to build a future within the forty-six. 

Whether or not their own relationship was salvageable or whether Murphy wanted anything further to do with Bellamy himself was the main question, but Bellamy had already sworn to try, already wanted to try, regardless. 

Just as his silence was becoming damning and he could see Murphy pulling away, his walls shuttering back down, Bellamy reached out and nabbed Murphy’s hand in his own. 

“Go to sleep, Murph,” Bellamy commanded; he felt Murph’s grip on their joined hands spasm before Bell closed his eyes to follow his own order. 

======

It wasn't long after going to sleep that Bellamy twitched himself awake with a gasp, struggling. Bell was vaguely aware he was no longer in the nightmare, but the blankets were caught around his legs and the trapped feeling only escalated the panic that had bled through from his dreams. 

“Bellamy - Bell! Wake up! Come on, boss, you’re having a bad dream…” there was a fleeting touch to his shoulder, like someone had reached out before thinking better. The hand was back as a solid pressure after a moment, and Bellamy’s automatic defensive reaction was to reach up grab it at the wrist. 

“Come on, Bell, don’t hit me for this. I’m trying to help…” someone pleaded, and Bellamy remembered who was with him. 

“Murphy?”

“Yeah, boss, come on, wake up a little.” Bellamy sat up, his heart racing in his chest but disoriented and groggy with sleep.

“Where’s Octavia?” he mumbled, glancing around the tent as Murphy tried to tug his wrist free. 

“I am not actually your sister’s keeper, so I have no idea,” Murphy said, giving one last tug before he seemed to gave up and sat down on the edge of Bellamy’s blankets instead. “She hasn’t been back yet though.” Bellamy shook his head and brought his free hand up to rub at his eyes, not quite processing the conversation. 

“Fuck,” Bellamy muttered, seeing the bodies they’d left in the Mess Hall behind his closed eyelids. Murphy tried again to jerk his wrist out of Bellamy’s hold, the motion jarring enough to help ground Bellamy in the present. 

“Okay, so can I have my arm back? I don’t know if you realize, but I’ve been in a desert for, like, weeks, and it is freezing here in comparison.” Bellamy glanced over at the other, noticing that he had grabbed Murphy’s bad arm but still not letting go. Bellamy felt drugged, everything still hazy and off-kilter from his dream, but Murphy did seem to be cold, his free hand wrapped around his middle and his jaw clenched, probably to keep from chattering. It was getting colder, Bellamy realized, and Arkadia really did not have many blankets or supplies beyond what was salvaged from the wreck site. Shit.

“Just climb in,” Bellamy eventually said, the adrenaline spike from his nightmare falling fast and dragging him back into sleep. He gave his own tug to Murphy’s wrist. “We’ll both be warmer. Leave the other blankets for when Octavia comes back.”

“Climb in,” Murphy parroted without inflection. “You’ve tried to kill me and now you want to snuggle?”

“Just come on, Murphy,” Bellamy tugged harder and rolled over to make room, drawing the other further across the bed as he went. 

Bellamy heard Murphy’s harried response - “Are you _joking_ \- Bellamy! Come on, man...” - but he was asleep before any other protests registered. 

======

Bellamy had been alone two days ago when he woke up, and, as he pushed himself to a sitting position, he had realized Murphy had taken Bell’s favorite hooded sweatshirt with him. It was the evening of the third day and Bellamy still wasn’t sure if he was more miffed about the hoodie - those shits were difficult to find these days, and the nights were getting colder - or worried for Murphy. 

Either way, it and the stress were messing with his sleep. Between Mount Weather and the growing tensions between the forty-six and the Arkers, the bed-sharing moment with Murphy had honestly been the best rest Bellamy could remember getting since Wells was alive. At the moment, Bellamy was running on maybe three hours of sleep out of seventy and he knew, thanks to both Octavia and Raven, that he looked like utter shite; if he looked half as bad as he felt, Bellamy thought, rubbing the bags under his eyes with both hands, he probably deserved all the wary glances Abby was throwing his way. He sighed heavily into his palms and braced himself before tuning back into the discussion. 

“ - like we can separate cleanly from the Arkers. They have all the resources from the downed ‘ship, means for electricity, and they have most of the ammunition. We could probably get a few of the others to come with us, like my father, but…” Miller trailed off with a shrug, the _the numbers wouldn’t be enough_ left unspoken amongst the group. 

“We wouldn’t have to worry about allies, you know, if we hadn’t killed off everyone in Mount Weather,” Jasper spat out with a glare for Bellamy and Monty, still bitter and betrayed. It was a sentiment that was quickly wearing thin with Bellamy, despite his exhaustion and sickening guilt. Monty was clearly at his wits end with the subject as well, and had gone rigid where he sat at Bellamy’s side. 

“You knew that girl for like a _week_ , Jasp, and you know as well as the rest of us they would never have been able to be our allies.”

“ _That girl’s_ name was _Maya_ ,” Jasper hissed, suddenly standing and looming above Monty, “and she is the only floating reason you’re still breathing on this thrice damned rock of a planet, you _ignorant floating prick_.” Jasper was panting by the end of his tirade, glaring down at Monty until the other slowly stood up. 

“That girl,” Monty started, his voice low and even, “died a hero's death, and I am sorry, Jasp, that that’s how it played out. I know you liked her, but if you think for one moment that there had been any other alternative - they were never going to be able to keep living underground. Either their supplies would’ve died out or they would, and the only way to solve that problem was to _torture every single one of us until we’d died_. Fuck that, Jasper, and _fuck_ you.” 

Monty stared at Jasper for a moments silence and when there was no response beyond Jasper’s scowl, Monty turned on his heel and marched into the dark. Bellamy caught Nathan Miller’s gaze over the fire and indicated for him to follow after Monty. Miller left silently, disappearing into the dark beyond the fire, and Bellamy turned his attention to Jasper.

“We can’t live in the past,” Bellamy stated, and there was a moment where Jasper’s face contorted into something so poisonously rage-filled Bellamy didn’t recognize him. 

“Go fucking float yourself, Bellamy,” Jasper ground out before tearing away from the fire in the opposite direction Monty and Miller had gone. Harper made motion to go after him, but looked towards Bellamy before leaving altogether; Bellamy shrugged, leaving the decision to her, and exhaled heavenward after she too became indistinguishable outside the glow of the fire. 

“Well this meeting has been delightful,” Wick quipped into the silence. “Please do interrupt me in my engineering feats for the next one.”

“There have actually been things happening around here beside your science experiments,” Monroe quipped with a defensive moue twisting her expression. 

“Oh there have, have there?” Wick asked in mock surprise. “Please, do tell; there haven’t been any more war drums, so I can’t image it’s been anything Earth-shattering, if you’ll pardon the expression.” 

“I have a feeling that Lexa grilled Kane over why Jaha was in the Dead Zone in the first place,” Bellamy interrupted the two. “When Echo, the Ice Nation warrior that was in the Mountain, came to let us know the Coalition had found Jaha and Murphy, she told me that Lexa and her Council were discussing whether or not it meant we were trying to form an alliance with the Wastelanders, or something.” 

“You have feelings?” Wick interjected with almost honest curiosity, and both Bellamy and Octavia scowled in his direction. 

“What even are these Nomads?” Raven bristled, her nose scrunched in annoyance as she leaned forward, elbows braced against her knees, to make her point. “If they aren’t with Lexa’s band of - of whatever, maybe we should join up with them,” she said flippantly, “get someone who hasn’t been trying to kill us this whole time on our side.”

“No,” Lincoln spoke from across the fire where he and Octavia were settled together. “The Wastelanders are our outcasts, those with bad blood,” he spat to the side. “They are either killed as infants or sent to the Dead Lands to remove the stain from the blood. There are some who do not agree with the practice, mothers, fathers, or friends, but it is how the Kru keep the deformities from spreading.” 

“Wait,” Monroe interrupted from across the fire, “I thought they thought the adults were colonizing Mount Weather - how do the Wastelanders fit into that?” she asked, frowning. 

“No,” corrected Octavia, sitting up a little from where she was slumped over Lincoln. “ _We_ know the Arkers want to colonize the Mountain; they haven't gone back to raid it, so the Trekru haven't seen any hints they'd want to take it and possibly become the new _Maunon_. So to them the Dead Zone seems pretty logical.” 

“Why anyone,” Wick shuddered in disgust, “would want to live underground after coming to the Earth is beyond me.”

“The Arkers are scared, you've seen that. All of this is unknown and violent, but the Mountain is a safe, self-sustaining environment that has technology and looks similar enough to the Ark,” Bellamy shrugged. “Some people really hate change,” he finished, unable to understand personally, but aware that that's how some Arkers were viewing things. 

“Well I, for one,” Wick said into the lull, “refuse to live underground or inside another hull now that I don’t have to. Just saying.”

It wasn’t the crux of the matter - that was reserved, for the most part, on the fact that the Arkers maintained an Us Versus Them scenario towards the Grounders and, to a lesser extent, towards the Delinquents they’d sent ahead of them - but it was the split in the log. There were those among the Ark supporters who were embracing change, but not enough of them, and forty-six didn’t want to live anywhere not underneath the sun - and especially not within Mount Weather. The other issues between the two camps of Arkadia probably would have kept to a low simmer, but if Abby and the Council pressed to move… well. 

Their meeting tonight was a bust, what with four of their people leaving the circle, Bellamy distracted, and no new ideas put forth in any case. It was nice, however, to just spend time together. Talk quickly turned to quieter, more day-to-day matters, and before Bell knew what was happening, Octavia was shaking his shoulder, urging him up and away from a fire burned to embers and back towards their sleep tent. 

======

On the fourth day Bellamy woke up because his bunk was breathing. This was strange not only because he had finally fallen asleep, but also because Bellamy’s blankets were usually a hard, relatively uncomfortable surface that, while lumpy, certainly did not breathe. 

“I think I like you asleep best,” rasped Bellamy’s bed; “you’re warm, cuddle, and there are no speeches.” 

Bellamy jerked himself up onto his arms, startled. When he got a good glimpse of the person underneath him and realized it was Murphy, Bell had the flash of being surprised without actually feeling surprised at all. Who else would it be, his traitorous mind asked as he stared down at Murphy, who had frozen, wide-eyed at the sudden movement, with his palms held open at his shoulders to express just how much of a non-threat he was. 

“It’s just me,” Murphy said pointlessly and Bellamy squinted at him, trying to will his tired mind to make sense of Murphy’s presence and words. 

Exhausted though he was, Bellamy was able to discern three important details in his drowsy assessment of the other boy: He, Bellamy, was warm; Murphy, trapped as he was underneath Bellamy, would not be running off anywhere; and no one had yet come to demand Bellamy’s time. Taking all this into consideration, Bellamy slumped back down onto Murphy, repositioning himself slightly so he wasn’t fully crushing the other. 

“You like me?” he mumbled into the clean shirt over the younger boy’s chest.

“I didn't say that,” Murphy whispered, his tone distracted. Bellamy felt fingers touching the back of his head, and, when he didn’t say anything, he felt the breath Murphy had apparently been holding stutter out and the fingers dug deeper into his hair. 

“If you like me _best_ asleep it implies you like me the rest of the time too, Murph,” Bellamy replied. 

“Whatever,” Murphy grunted as his fingers began to stutteringly comb through Bellamy’s hair, and Bell let himself relax into it. “But what is with the octopus cuddles? I've shared a tent with you before and there was definitely none of this.”

Ballamy hummed tunelessly in response and closed his eyes, not sure how to explain the nebulous relationship between his sister and himself, let alone their upbringing or how they had had to make a space meant for two fit three and how isolated he’d felt once Octavia had been discovered. Not only did Bellamy just not have the words, but it was probably a bit insensitive to talk about how alone he’d felt to someone who’d been in solitary confinement for however long. Besides, Murphy had never been one to proffer head rubs either. 

“Where’ve you been, anyway?” he asked instead. 

Murphy was silent for a moment.

“I found a library, before - before the Grounders got me. I went back there. They had, like, tablets and things; I thought I could get some for Raven. And maybe see if anything else was there - stories and the like. The Library on the Ark was where I went when - I just spent a lot of time there.” 

“Stories, eh?”

“Yeah, I got people things, you know, as consolation prizes for living through Mount Weather. I even got you one,” Murphy said, shifting at his hips towards the edge of the blankets as much as he could underneath Bellamy’s not inconsiderable weight, “hold on.” 

Bellamy could feel Murphy stretching to reach something and turned his head to rest his chin on the other’s chest. Murphy had his tongue sticking out, brows bunched, and spine slightly bowed as he wiggled to grab the elusive book without dislodging Bellamy. 

“Jesus, okay,” Murphy huffed as he and collapsed back onto the covers. “Here,” he tossed the book along their sides before unceremoniously sliding a hand back into Bellamy’s hair. “Happy consolatory Mountain gift.” 

Bellamy turned his head and came face-to-cover with a slightly worn paperback copy of Edith Hamilton’s _Mythology_ ; the spine was bent from previous readers and there was still a sticker with the book’s Dewey number at the bottom. Bellamy brought an arm from where they rested beneath the pillow Murphy was using and reached a hand out to trace wonderingly over the taped numbers. The book was old and, after surviving a nuclear fallout plus some hundred years of neglect, delicate, but there it was. 

It was possibly the most thoughtful gift Bellamy had ever received - books on the Ark, especially ones still in paper, were considered communal property - and from the least likely individual he could have imagined. 

“Thank you,” he murmured, voice quiet and thick with unexpected gratitude. Bellamy made a note to himself to put the book somewhere safe within his pack and turned again to hide - because that was what he was doing - his face against the other’s chest. 

“Anyway,” Murphy said after a moment in an obvious attempt to change the subject, “where’d the Princess go? Kinda hard to give her her consolation prize when I can’t find her anywhere…” 

Bellamy let out a long exhale. “She’s been living in the woods,” he answered, “she’s not in our camp, obviously, but she’s not quite in the Grounder camp either. A few of us go out to her in a rotation, and both Nyko and Lincoln have been coming by; the three of them have been exchanging medical knowledge or something…” 

“She’s exiled herself?” Bellamy grunted. 

“She’s helping with the Reaper’s withdrawal and with rehabilitating the Grounders that were in Mount Weather,” was Bellamy’s measured reply. It was the route response he had developed to this question for when Abby, Raven, Octavia, or anyone else asked him this question, and partially the reason he was so exhausted all the time now. 

Bellamy would have been fully able to run the Delinquent’s Camp within Arkadia or to be their leader in the face of the politics from the Ark Survivors, but he couldn’t do both and he missed Clarke’s presence with an acute pain. 

Bellamy understood - or could at least appreciate - how hard the deaths at Mount Weather had hit Clarke, and he ached for her, he really did, but the truth was he was drowning under the combined responsibilities. Bellamy moved up until his face was hidden below Murphy’s ear where jaw met neck. Thinking on just how much everyone within Camp was relying on him and how thinly stretched he was, Bellamy could feel the tight, panicky sensation return to his chest and he exhaled a wet, uneven breath. 

“Hey,” Murphy said, and Bellamy could hear the frown in his voice. “Are you okay?” Bellamy felt the hand not in his hair come up to push at his shoulder in an attempt for Murphy to see his face. 

“I think I’m,” Bellamy huffed a laugh into Murphy’s skin; he could, admittedly, feel hysteria creeping in and knew he needed to get a lid on himself. “Going a little crazy.”

“What,” Murphy asked without inflection. 

“There’s just - there’s just so much to _do_ ,” Bellamy breathed out all at once, “and Clarke isn’t here - she isn’t here to keep her mom in check or - or to help fix _our_ people.” Once he’d started, Bellamy found, he couldn’t stop; he hadn’t been able to put all this on Octavia’s or any of the other forty-six’s shoulders, but apparently Murphy was the exception to his big brother instinct. 

“They’re all so fucked up from the Mountain; Jasper can’t even _function_ , Murph, and I am just - I can’t do it all. I can’t hunt, and run patrol, and keep track of the Council, politics with Abby, train, be their - their psychologist, and act as an - an _envoy_ ,” he loaded the last word with as much disbelief as he still felt towards the position, “to the Grounders. 

“I’m just so tired,” he took another shuddering inhale, glad to have finally said something, even if it didn’t necessarily make him feel any better. 

“Are you,” Murphy started after a beat, “are you having a panic attack? And _confiding in me_?” Murphy asked, pushing at Bellamy’s shoulders with both hands now and sounding panicked himself at the prospect. 

“No, never mind,” Bellamy bit out as he batted Murphy’s hands away with one arm while clinging tighter with the other. He just needed a few more moments where he could hide here, with apparently the one person that didn’t fall under his protective instinct. “What - what consolation prize did you get for Clarke?” he asked as a distraction. 

“What did I get - are you joking?” Murphy asked incredulously. 

“No,” Bell gritted, “I’m not joking. What did you get her?” 

“Fine,” Murphy said bitterly, and Bellamy ground his teeth together as the hands that had been pushing at his shoulders dug in like claws instead. “I picked up _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_ for the Princess.”

“You - _what_?” Bellamy responded as his mind halted, officially thrown off track.

“She reminds of me Lucy, okay?” Murphy retorted, shifting underneath Bellamy in obvious discomfort over the subject. Bellamy couldn’t help but turn to glance at Murphy’s, the disbelieving look on his own face morphing as incredulous laughter bubbled out without his consent at the sardonic twist to Murphy’s expression. 

Bellamy couldn’t stop laughing now that he’d started, and he witnessed the wry turn of Murphy’s lips soften into something almost fond before Bell dropped his face back onto Murphy’s chest; he was still shaking in silent laughter when he felt the fingers return to his hair as Murphy huffed out a chuckle of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where everyone was OOC and nothing hurt.
> 
> Also I am sorry to say I won't be keeping this quick-to-update thing going. I will update, I swear! I have like 18K already written, but I won't be able to keep to an every-few-days update.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> _like the fox_  
>  I run with the hunted  
> and if I'm not  
> the happiest man  
> on earth  
> I'm surely the  
> luckiest man  
> alive.  
> \- from “My Doom Smiles at Me” by Charles Bukowski  
> 
> 
> Accompanying 8tracks playlist.
> 
> This is not beta-read or edited at all, really, so mistakes are mine and mine alone. Criticize everything, please. 
> 
> Additionally, I am neither Kass Morgan nor am I a member of The 100 Writers, so these are not my characters; this is fanfiction. 
> 
> This is also violently Jossed with the S3 / is an AU after S2.

**=Chapter Three=**

“We’re starting your training now that you’re back and cleared,” Bellamy told Murphy the next day while they walked the perimeter of Arkadia. Neither one of them was assigned to the sentry roster, Bellamy because he was typically used on patrols or hunting parties and Murphy because he hadn’t been there to assign. Bellamy had thought to show Murph around the new Camp, however, so they had grabbed something from the mess and set off.

“We usually train with Lincoln, get a sense of what the Grounders do,” Bellamy continued as Murphy stared at him, chewing slowly, “but Miller - Sergeant Miller - has agreed to start training us all, so…” Bellamy shrugged. “We’ll go through some of the stances and motions for Guard training.”

Murphy mirrored his shrug and darted his gaze around the rest of Camp, tetchy. “Still got nothin’ better to do.”

They set out with a portion of the forty-six shortly after out into the surrounding woods. The group sessions the Delinquents had arranged with Miller wasn’t taking place in Arkadia - not because they didn’t want the Arkers aware that they were training, but because there wasn’t the space for it. Training one-on-one with Lincoln within Alpha Station’s wreckage was one thing, but the majority of the forty-six were going to be in attendance now and larger, clearer setting was more logical. 

More logical, Bellamy thought, crossing his arms as he stared out at those gathered, but it was also more of a hassle. Finding a space large enough for everyone to gather and practice wasn’t easy, and moving outside of Arkadia meant Lincoln couldn’t be out there with them. 

Bellamy had placed himself along an outer ring where the Delinquents had gathered, Murphy hovering just behind him. From his position, he could see that the majority of the group had actually shown up, drawn, no doubt, by the chance to learn defensive and offensive maneuvers from the Chief Guard himself. Bellamy remembered his training as a Cadet - a mixture between Krav Maga and Tai Chi - and he couldn’t help but mentally assess the forty-six around him. 

A few of them, Bellamy thought as he watched Harper and her friends laughing, would not find this an easy or fun exercise. As he turned to watch Jasper stumble alone into the clearing, Bellamy wondered at the rational behind opening this training to everyone; maybe it would be good for Jasper to exorcise his ennui with physical exertion, but on the other hand maybe it would just give him the tools to hurt those he believes responsible for Maya’s death. Even more of those gathered were still hurting from the bone drill and rough treatment, Bellamy remembered with a start after seeing Mendez sporting at least one crutch. 

Speaking of the walking wounded, Bellamy could tell that Murphy’s thigh was still giving him trouble. He’d caught the slighter brunette clutching at his leg a few times this morning alone, and the scar Bellamy had seen when they’d brought Murphy back to Arkadia was still a red, irritated mess.

Sargent Miller showed up with the last grouping of the forty-six while Bellamy was ruminating - _not_ brooding, thank you, Octavia - and positioned himself as a focal point. Everyone gathered closer as the elder Miller started explaining what they’d be doing, and while he couldn’t see the other, Bellamy could feel the nervous energy Murphy was exuding. A hush fell over the group as everyone listened, and Bell leaned back to rest his upper arm against Murphy’s shoulder in a show of support. 

As Miller spoke, he outlined the history of the Ark’s Guard and the reasons behind their combat training, drawing out a comparison between guarding the Ark - which was maybe not thing to do, considering the audience - and defending Arkadia. Miller lamented that everyone, not just those assigned to the Guard, now needed to know these maneuvers, but if that was the price, he continued, for finally experiencing Earth, then it was one he hoped everyone was willing to pay. 

After he expanded on the kata and forms they were going to learn, he pulled Nathan, whom the Sergeant had been training until the latter was sent to lock-up, and Bellamy, who’d been one of his top cadets, up to the front for a live demonstration. As the two stood facing each other in the ring of Delinquents, Miller laid down the limitations, stressing to those gathered that it would take time and practice in order to reach the level Bellamy and Nate were at presently. 

As the fight began and they circled one another, Bellamy feinted an opening and allowed Nathan the first pin in order to gauge how he moved and where he’d been in his own training. Bellamy got the sense that Miller had wanted Nathan and him to put on a performance of sorts, so he drew the second round out, using moves that accentuated the dance-like fluidity of what the Delinquents were to be taught before pinning Nate to the ground. In the third round, however, Bellamy was ruthless and efficient, and he took Nathan down within moments.

“That’s enough, Blake,” Sargent Miller commanded after Nate tapped-out. “This,” Miller indicated Bellamy and Nathan, “is what you are learning to do. I want you all to feel comfortable within these lessons; this space is a safe space. We will all be going through and learning these motions, so there will be no actual, real attacks and no violent force.

“We’ll be doing drills until everyone has the motions down. We will teach you the theory,” Miller went on, raising his voice to project to the rest of the forty-six as he began walking in front of those gathered, “and we will all practice the forms on each other, defensive and offensive, until they are a reflex.

“When we did this on the Ark,” he said, “we had floor-to-ceiling mirrors, so whomever lead the class could see and correct students when needed. We don’t have that here,” he stated without embellishment. “Instead, we will have my former students, Mr. Blake and Nathan,” he indicated to the two with a wave of his hand, “leading you through the forms at the front while I walk among you, making corrections to form or giving individual attention to those who need it.” 

Commander Miller paused in front of the half-moon of kids and his lips pursed as he seemed to take in their numbers - and their ages. Bellamy could see the elder Miller’s regret over having to teach a group so young, just as he could see Abby’s regret whenever they argued. It had been the primary point of contention on Miller’s side when Bellamy had originally proposed the idea of training, and he could see it still bothered the former Guard Captain. 

All of those in command of the surviving Arkers - or all of those worth being in command - regretted the fact that the burden of survival, base survival, had to be placed so heavily on the shoulders of those so young. Seeing in their eyes how deep their regret ran made Bellamy uncomfortable, especially as these were the same people who had sent the Delinquents down in the first place, but he could appreciate the sentiment. 

“We cannot hope to meet the Grounders in a show of strength,” Miller continued with a tone of concession. “We are learning these forms in the hopes that they will help in the case of real, hand-to-hand combat. Once we have learned the forms, you will be paired and will go over how they are applied when faced with an opponent.”

Miller stood back in parade rest after his announcement as chatter rose amongst the group, all excited, especially after the demonstration, to learn with their friends. Bellamy turned his gaze heavenward after witnessing Mendez fall flat on his ass trying to duplicate a move Nathan had pulled, though he did smile at the resulting uptick in laughter. 

“Who am I even going to train with,” Bellamy heard Murphy’s question over the din, a brave move, he couldn’t help but think, considering how nervous the group setting had him earlier. “Raven? She’ll kill me. One of the pet Grounders? Ditto.”

Not everybody seemed to have heard Murph address Miller, Bellamy realized as he shifted to look in their direction; Raven certainly hadn’t, at the least, though his words had grabbed Bellamy’s attention as if the other were yelling.

“I’m training with you,” Bellamy answered without thought, and he swiped a quick glance at reproachful looking Sargent Miller, aware he’d spoken out of turn. 

“No offence, boss, but the last few times we came to fistacuffs didn’t end too well for me.” 

“Shut up, Murphy. We’ll go at your pace and we’ll keep you in the role of the aggressor until you’re comfortable, alright?”

“Let me get this straight: You,” Murphy said, pointing at Bellamy, “are going to let me,” he pointed to himself, “beat you up?”

“I’m going to let you _try_ ,” Bellamy said with a grin that stretched into a smile when his response garnered a surprised laugh. 

“Enough,” Miller interjected, and the rest of the crowd quieted, finally clueing in to the discussion. “Mr. Murphy, loathe though I am to admit, you brought up a valid concern and despite your history together, you will be training,” he continued, leveling Bellamy with another cool look, “with Mr. Blake. The rest of you will be paired based on your skill level once I’ve determined it. Are there any questions?” 

There hadn’t been, of course, and Sargent Miller quickly finished up the meeting. Some of the Delinquents dispersed after the elder Miller, leaving to attend to their assigned duties or to wander back towards their tents, but many milled around, excited and still talking amongst themselves about the training. 

Bellamy saw Murphy was amongst those still left and wandered over towards where he was gathered 

“Don’t worry, Murph,” Bell said as he gave Murphy a slap on the shoulder. “If you let me train with you, you can come watch Lincoln kick my ass while he’s training me.”

“Done, yes; sign me up.”

“Can we all get in on that deal or is it just a Murphy exclusive?” Monroe cut in with a smile, and Bellamy could hug her he’s so happy someone so casually addressed Murphy after the drama of his return.

“Yeah, I feel like watching you take a beating would be real good for my own sense of morale any given day,” Miller added, which of course made Monty laugh. From the widening of Miller’s grin as he turned towards the still smiling Monty, Bellamy had a feeling that the Sargent’s son had joined the conversation specifically for that. 

As what Bellamy considered the core group - Monroe, Nate Miller, Monty, Octavia, Raven, and Wick - gathered, he watched as Murphy, included in the conversation, started to smile, and began to believe that they could do this - survive, even _live_ \- after all. 

======

It took two weeks for Bellamy to notice Murphy was raiding his meager closet, and it was only because he inadvertently eavesdropped on the moment Octavia came to the exact realization. 

“Wait, is that - is that _Bellamy’s_ jacket?” Bellamy had heard Octavia ask, clearly attempting for accusing but coming out more confused.

“Well, you know how it goes,” Murphy responded, the smirk coming across in his tone; “I couldn’t get him to kill me, so…”

Murphy had trailed off and Bellamy, still in the tent, didn’t hear Octavia’s response, mostly because he was busy being blind-sided by realization number two regarding Murphy: Murphy had essentially moved into Bellamy’s tent. 

Bellamy hadn’t even been able to figure out how Murph had gotten into his tent in the first place until he’d started falling asleep, or, more aptly, until his body had started shutting down in random places, again. After she had realized he was back to avoiding sleep, Octavia had drug them both into the tent and shoved Murphy down beside a near-catatonic Bellamy. Bellamy had never slept better. 

When Bell had confronted her about it later, Octavia had scowled and relayed an unflattering account of how the last two times she'd seen him willing sleep - and in a bed, no less - were with Murphy; why did he think she’d lugged the younger brunette into Bellamy’s tent the moment he’d stepped foot back into Camp? Murphy hadn’t argued so, really - fair enough.

Before now, Bellamy had imagined Murphy was in their tent because room hadn’t yet been made for him. Instead, Murphy had moved in at some point and Octavia - Octavia had moved out. It had been such an organic, unspoken process that it hadn't even registered consciously with Bellamy, especially busy as he was convincing the former that he trusted him. 

When Bellamy had made the decision to show Murphy he still had Bell’s trust, Bellamy had done it immediately, leaning on the other almost as a crutch. Bellamy ignored the physical limitations of Murphy’s injuries, aware the other saw them as a weakness, and the stuttering way the younger one reacted at times (as if he knew such carte blanche trust was weird, but so badly wanting acceptance), steamrolling over any awkward moments or askance looks. 

Bellamy had wanted Murphy back to being the snarky shit he originally was, just tempered. What Bellamy hadn't realized, however, was how much _he_ had needed someone to step back into position as his second-hand. 

Murphy had always been his enforcer back at the Drop Ship; Bellamy may have set out the rules and inspected the finished products, but Murphy was the one who’d intimidated the hundred enough to get results. If Bellamy didn’t have the time to do something back then, he could unquestioningly rely on Murphy. Now, without Clarke, the extent to which Bellamy had relied and is beginning again to rely upon Murphy was readily apparent. Monty and Raven were helping to keep tensions between the Arkers and Delinquents at a simmer, but it wasn’t the same as having someone physically there with him.

And Bellamy could see that as much as Murphy was helping him, being needed was helping Murphy. He was still skittish and shuddered like the horses would when touched, especially if it was Bellamy, but Murphy was getting better as he became more assured of his place. The fact that Bell couldn't help but sleep all over the wiry brunette - and trust, he'd tried to not - probably helped desensitize Murphy to touch. 

And they were - they were having _fun_ together. Being paired in training helped, though they’d never had a problem just the two of them. The rest of the forty-six were in no way intimidated by Murphy after the Mountain Men, but his being around Bellamy, and thus around them, meant that they’d started to associate him with other, positive things. It wasn’t that anyone had forgotten what had happened, it was just that so much else had happened in the in-between. And now, with the training, everyone was exposed to each other again.

Bellamy was trying to make the training an overall fun experience for all of the forty-six, something Miller, whose guilt still shone from his eyes, heartily approved. So when Mel had suggested they add running to their training and Harper had jumped in with the idea that the group play tag, he’d readily agreed. Though the whole affair had, of course, ended in a mud-fight started after Monty “tagged” Wick near the river with a glob of mud to the head, everyone had filed back into Arkadia laughing, so Bellamy counted the experience overall as a win. 

Octavia’s bark of laughter accompanied by Murphy’s more mellow amusement brought Bellamy back to his original brooding topic. The thing about Octavia and him was… they’d always shared a room, Bellamy thought with a creased brow as he surveyed the now obviously rearranged tent. He had just assumed that it would be the same now that they were on the ground. Sleeping in the same tent made the most sense in order to best protect one another, even if the tents were still small and without a lick of privacy, just like in the Ark. 

The fact that Octavia hadn’t moved out once Lincoln was given his own tent had only further supported the idea for Bellamy, and, while it was crowded with three in the tent, Octavia hadn’t shown the slightest inclination that she had wanted to move out… had she? 

Bellamy frowned and thought back on the past weeks, but while he could remember being - and actually sleeping - in his own tent more times than he could honestly account for before Murphy’s return, he couldn’t remember speaking Octavia anywhere that wasn’t outside or in the mess hall. And his recall, Bellamy could admit, was pretty great now that he was getting a more than adequate amount of sleep.

Instead of zoning out and training himself to the point he was near unconscious, for example, Bellamy was aware of his surroundings. Bell was aware that Murphy, for instance, watched him as Bellamy ran through his routine. Bell made sure to pay attention to Murphy when he trained as well, so Bell could step in to correct a movement or call a time-out when he noticed Murphy flagging - which in effect ensured that Bellamy wasn't essentially killing himself every time he went on the training mat. Bellamy wasn't neglecting his training to tend to Murphy's, it was more that by focusing on Murphy Bellamy was treating himself with more care and respect. 

Octavia had already pointedly made mention that she was glad he wasn't working himself to death, and even Raven had said he looked better, though she definitely hadn't been aware of the cause.

“Bell, I moved out, like, ages ago,” Octavia responded when he asked her after Murphy had left to grab the three of them food from the mess. “I even had a whole conversation about it with Murphy,” she exclaimed. “I figured that now you had someone else you were comfortable splitting a tent with I could move in with Lincoln.” 

Ah, Bellamy thought with some level of discomfort, she had wanted to share with Lincoln but had stayed to, what, _coddle_ him? The thought rankled, but it also made him sad to think his little sister believed she had to handle him with kid-gloves. Bellamy knew he hadn’t been handling Clarke’s absence and his responsibility _well_ , but he hadn’t considered he’d been doing so miserably. He shook his head to get hair out of his eyes and the thoughts from his head both, and attempted to refocus on the original subject, or at least one portion of it. 

“You took your bedding though,” he asked tentatively. “Does Lincoln not have enough? Or are you,” he began, shifting a little uncomfortably with the direction of the question, “not sharing a bed..?”

“No,” she said slowly, as if he were being dumb. “I left my bedding in there. Are you,” Octavia paused, her eyebrows lowering, “Are you telling me you’re still sharing a bed?”

Bellamy shrugged, answering without answering and strangely unbothered by the whole bed sharing situation. Octavia made a face at his non-reaction but didn’t comment, and their conversation turned more towards housekeeping matters; Octavia was leading the alternate band of hunters from his while still being on sentry and scout rotations, all of which demanded scheduling. Murphy came back with three bowls of breakfast at some point and Octavia, in a move that was unusually considerate, didn’t say anything to Murphy after she made her goodbyes. 

Well, it wasn’t entirely considerate, as she’d left her dirtied bowl for the two of them to pick up, something Murphy muttered over darkly as he gathered the tableware together. Bellamy sucked his lower lip between his teeth and watched Murphy as he mumbled his way through tidying. Bell’s brows were furrowed in thought; he was aware Murphy was aware he was watching, but the slighter man kept up a steadily inane mumble of commentary as he moved and made a pointed attempt to not acknowledge Bellamy’s gaze. 

Bellamy physically shook himself and that, of course, awarded him a look from Murphy; it was more of a ‘you’re a freak; why do you do the things that you do?’ expression than a ‘you’re deciding something about me and if I don’t acknowledge it it isn’t happening’ one, however, so that was okay. Bell stood and let go of the matter for the day. He stretched his arms over his head, tilting to each side and feeling nothing but contentment as his spine popped, before reaching out to give Murphy a shove to his shoulder. 

“Come on,” Bellamy felt the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkle as he grinned fully at the other; he saw Murphy’s throat working as he took a hard swallow, and the other’s hand lifted a little in Bell’s direction before dropping back down to his side. Weird, Bellamy thought, but… 

“Gotta brush up on those Earth Skills somehow. So we’re gonna go out into the forest,” Bellamy explained, “and you’re going to track me until you find me.”

And that’s what they did.

======

Bellamy wasn’t going to not talk about it forever - he couldn’t even wait until after they’d had breakfast the next morning to bring up their living situation. 

“Octavia told me she’d moved out,” Bellamy said in a measured tone and he watched, definitely more curious than upset, as Murphy visibly froze, staring at Bellamy with an increasingly wide-eyed gaze. 

“I don’t care that we’re sharing,” Bellamy quickly added, “I just - why didn’t you tell me that Octavia had moved out?” It was really the only thing that bothered Bellamy about the whole situation anymore, that Murphy had been almost lying by omission. It was kind of a petty thing to be hung up on, Bellamy knew, especially in the face of all their other issues, but it was also a petty thing to kinda-lie about too. 

“I don’t - you wouldn’t have let me - ” Murphy was blunter than he was when they’d first crashed; he seemed to say exactly what was on his mind, especially to Bellamy. On the flip-side, he seemed to have even _more_ issues expressing any sort of vulnerability. Getting Murphy to say when his leg was bothering him was a hardship, and Bellamy would be hard-pressed to remember if anyone had ever looked at him as venomously as Murphy had when he realized some of their warm-up routine was designed with the old wound specifically in mind. Watching Murphy try to express himself now was like watching someone try to rip off a Band-Aid.

“You wouldn’t have let me stay here if you thought I had somewhere else to go.” Murphy had made an obvious attempt to keep a measured tone with perfect enunciation, but Bellamy could see just how tightly clenched a grip Murph had on their bedding. 

“You want to stay?” Bellamy winced, immediately regretting how incredulous he’d sounded. “No, wait, stop,” he waved an arm in a negating motion as if that would dispel his words; “Of course you’re staying

“And I’m _not_ splitting this into two beds,” Murphy thumped a fist down beside him. “It isn’t comfortable when they’re so thin and we would freeze to death.”

“Yeah, that’s,” Bellamy blew out a breath, “that’s completely fine. You don’t - you can always elbow me in the side,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest, uncomfortable with finally addressing their sleeping arrangement outloud. In Bellamy’s defense, he’d only ever shared a bed while _sleeping_ with O, and they’d always had to sleep close on the Ark for warmth. Life-support was never enough to heat the entire Ark against the cold of space, after all. “Octavia always complained that I was going to smother her.” 

“No!” Murphy stood up, and then shuffled his feet and put his hands in his pockets, seeming to realize he had reacted a little strongly. “I mean, no, that’s fine. It’s cold at night and it’s warmer that way.” 

“What if…” Bellamy paused; he hadn’t been going to say this, his plan to trust Murphy into being trustworthy, out loud. Ever. But plans change. 

“What if we were friends?”

Murphy gave him a look. “Like Monty and Jasper?” he asked, quickly snapping “Well not as they are _now_ ” in response to the face Bellamy had unconsciously pulled.

“How about we never compare ourselves to them ever again,” Bellamy replied without attempting to mask his distaste. Monty and Jasper were fine, separately, Monty more than amazing, but together they’d always been a bit of a mess in his opinion… and mostly because Jasper was a little bit self-absorbed. 

Murphy contemplated Bellamy with a lidded gaze. “Do friends kick friends out of their tent?”

“You don’t need to be my friend to share the tent, Murphy, jeeze,” Bellamy dug a hand through his hair. “I’m not going to make you find another room; all your shit is already here.”

Murphy turned to look at the side of the tent where he’d taken to lining up things he’d accumulated and Bellamy found himself following the other’s gaze. Everything on the Ark was technically communal, so the novelty of _owning_ anything was still strong, though the items everyone tended to pick as ‘their own’ were still mostly bobbles. All of Bellamy’s belongings - the book Murphy’d got him, his one hoodie, and a spattering of knives he’d either made or saved for himself - fit in the pack that made up the sole item on his side of the tent. 

When Bellamy refocused on Murphy himself, the slighter boy was already looking up at him with a heavy-lidded gaze. 

“I want you to be able to express yourself,” Bellamy whispered, “and if this is how you’re choosing to do it,” he indicated the mess of blankets built into a nest of a bed, “with actions instead of words, then I really can’t hold that against you.

“Especially,” Bellamy continued, smiling as he moved to open the tent flap in order to lead the way towards Tech with the goal of familiarizing Murphy with the equipment they had available, “as it means I’m getting a good night’s sleep.”

“ _How_ you can sleep I have no idea,” Murphy muttered lightly as they moved to follow, sneaking a glance at Bellamy from the side. “It’s really like sleeping in the smokehouse.” 

Bellamy barked out a surprised laugh and could feel his disbelief reflected in his expression. “Are you complaining because you’re too _warm_ at night?” Bellamy asked incredulously. 

“Yes,” Murphy said emphatically. “But the thing that I really don’t get,” he continued, wrinkling his nose with quizzical frown, as if whatever he didn’t understand bothered and amused him all at once, “is that your hands are always _freezing_ \- and you always have them on my _neck_.” 

Murphy sounded so affronted that Bellamy couldn’t help cracking up, the inanity of their conversation combined with the look on Murphy’s face just too much for him. He couldn’t remember the last time he laughed so hard, especially at something that wasn’t even all that funny, but Bellamy found himself bent over in the midst of his laugh-attack. By the time he had subsided and stood back up to wipe the tears that had gathered in the corners of his eyes, Murphy’s expression had shifted into a softer, bemused smile, and they stood smiling at each other like idiots for a while. 

As they made to continue on to breakfast, however, they were interrupted by yet another of the forty-six calling for Bellamy’s attention. At least the morning had started off well. 

“Bellamy, hey, wait up!” He turned towards Raven’s voice and felt the smile sliding off his face into something smaller, more contained. Bellamy turned to angle himself in the direction Raven was approaching and felt Murphy take up position slightly behind him, still wary of the woman. By the time Raven got within speaking-distance, they had aligned themselves to present what Bellamy thought of as a united front, and he couldn’t help but be pleased with their non-verbal show of solidarity. 

“The more we’ve been thinking about Mount Weather the less sense it makes,” Raven began before she and Wick, who was trailing behind her, jogging to keep pace despite his longer stride and Raven’s injury, reached the pair. 

“Bell, they were blocking our signals - they blocked the Dropship and the Ark’s coordinate signals from landing successfully and on-course, and they blocked our radio signals. They _blocked_ us,” she said with an emphasis Bellamy shrugged at, frowning with incomprehension over why Raven was repeating known information and getting an eye-roll for his troubles.

“They already had this technology set up, Bell, and you can't tell me it was a precautionary measure in the case that the Ark ever came down. I think,” Wick cleared his throat, “we think that they were using it against the Grounders… that the Grounders may have a more developed technology than we’re aware.”

“They did…” Murphy cut himself off, staring back at Raven’s sudden and vicious glare beneath lidded eyes before he bodily turned himself so he was just facing Bellamy. 

“When I went with Jaha on his crap-shot venture to the City of Light, there was technology. And the Grounders we met in the desert, they didn't want to kill us, they just wanted our tech. We passed this whole field of solar panels and I stayed in this - this house thing that had electricity, music, running water; the whole nine yards.” Murphy licked his lips

“He - he pushed one of the men, Craig, he pushed him overboard as a distraction. There was this creature with teeth that got my arm and ate Richards. Jaha pushed Craig overboard to distract it while I rowed to shore… He _sacrificed_ his own people. And you know what he told me? ‘We sacrificed a few to save the many.’” 

“And you haven't told Kane or Abby any of this?!” 

“Jaha’s been doing a real good job of keeping me away from them. Besides, why take the reject of the delinquents’ word when you've got a former Chancellor to tell you what happened?” Murphy sneered. 

Raven made a face at Murphy’s reply and turned back to worry at her original point with Bellamy, unable to find fault with Murphy reasoning, apparently, and unwilling to concede the point.

“At least going into the Mountain - at least _once_ , Bellamy - would give us new - new doppler ultrasounds to check internal injuries; biophysical mapping tools; electro- or laser- surgery technology; actual sterilization machines so we aren’t re-using shit; and especially _medicine_!” Raven huffed out with a glare in Bellamy’s direction. She knew Bell felt guilty over the state of the medbay and he was trying his best to find more caches left over from Earth Before or another down Ark Station site, primarily to check for other survivors, yes, but also to scavenge for supplies. 

Bellamy looked away from Raven’s accusing glare, skipping over Wick’s nervous form behind her to gaze out at the moving figures of Arkadia. The medical bay on Alpha Station had been the best stocked facility on the whole Ark, but even when they were up in the black, Bellamy thought with pursed lips, there wasn’t enough. With the crash and everything else, they were still at dangerously low levels in terms of supplies, despite the severe decline in population. 

“That,” Murphy said, “is an oddly specific list for a fly-girl mechanic.” 

“I spend a lot of time in the medical tent,” she sneered back. “I wonder why.”

Bellamy frowned once the words registered and turned back to give Raven an assessing look because Murphy - Murphy wasn’t wrong. That was an very specific example to throw out, and it rang suspiciously close to something that’d come out of Abby’s mouth during their last meeting. 

He looked hard at Raven as she and Murphy descended into trading insults, though Raven’s were admittedly more barbed. “More barbed” could cover for a lot of what Raven was these days, even to those closest to her, and she knew how guilty Bell felt over both the death in Mt. Weather and the dwindling supplies for Arkadia. Abby pressed those same points each and every time Bellamy sat in on Council sessions, and Bellamy knew - he _knew_ \- he had shared his feelings with Raven specifically regarding those tactics. 

He especially remembered sharing his thoughts on the issues with Raven because she had made nearly the same scoffing sound Abby had when Bellamy had brought up sharing medicinal knowledge with the Grounders like Clarke was doing. Only the uncertainty in Raven’s brow and the fact that she, unlike Abby, had been willing to hear out his proposition in full, had kept him from being entirely suspicious at the time, but this was a second time - and it was beginning to be alarming. 

Bellamy vaguely registered Raven landing a rough zing to Murphy; she knew exactly where to hit Bellamy, he figured, but she hadn’t had as much one-on-one time with Murph. What officially brought his attention back to the verbal knife-fight was the hot, livid glare Raven shot him as Murphy leaned himself fully back into Bellamy’s side, physically and very unsubtly seeking reassurance. 

Murphy had taken to touching Bellamy more and more outside of sleep or training, especially when they were in front of any of the forty-six. It was almost as if Murphy were physically claiming Bellamy each time he leaned against or laid hands on the taller male with an audience, as if he were showing everyone that he, Murphy, had _permission_ to touch, and he was rubbing it in everyone’s face. 

It wasn’t like Murphy was _controlling_ of Bellamy by any stretch of the imagination. Bellamy got the feeling that it was more Murphy had been confronted with an embarrassment of riches in the ability to reach out and touch Bell whenever he wanted without rejection, and Murph was going all-in while he could. 

Even as these thoughts ran through his head, Bellamy could hear the argument - because it had become an argument - reach a crescendo in volume, and he was able to grab Murphy by the shoulders right as he made to more bodily confront Raven. Until that point it had been a verbal confrontation; something Raven said had clearly changed that, however, and Bellamy mentally kicked himself for not paying actual attention. 

“Okay, easy there, Rufio,” Wick said as an attempt to appease Murphy as he placed himself in front of Raven. “We don't need the whole of the Ark Guard coming down on top of us.” 

But that wouldn’t have been a problem either, because now that Bellamy was paying attention and Wick had mentioned the Guard, he became aware of the commotion at the Gate. 

Bellamy registered Murphy’s flinch as Bell’s grip on his shoulders tightened, but Bellamy’s entire focus had bled to a pin-point because Abigail Griffin was leading a group hauling Mount Weather technology through the main gates of Arkadia, and she was staring straight back at him, smirking. 

======

Bellamy hadn’t stopped to speak with Abby or Kane as he - as they, he corrected, glancing at Murphy - left Camp. Monty had shown up and babbled something about stalling for time before shoving a bag at Bellamy that Murphy had eventually taken from his lax hands. There apparently was an assumption that Bellamy was going to finally bring Clarke back to speak sense into her mother. Which - wasn’t an entirely bad idea. Bellamy angled their course towards the Dropship where Clarke was staying, but didn’t quite come out of the haze the sight of Abby standing beside the Mt. Weather emblem had enveloped him in until they were halfway there. 

When they finally broke into the clearing surrounding the old Camp, Bellamy really didn’t know what to say as he looked around the Dropship. Ignoring the fact that Clarke must have gone back to the Art Supply Store where the Grounder’s body - where Delano’s body - had been left to rot, Bellamy honestly didn’t know whether or not what they were seeing was healthy. 

Clarke had drawn a mural on the Dropship, one that appeared to wrap around it in its entirety. The scene they were looking at depicted a segment filled with headstones; there were, Bellamy knew without counting, an even hundred. Towards the side of the graveyard was a giant, beautifully drawn rose that Clarke had colored-in yellow, and next to that was an explosion - literally - depicted in shades of orange and red. 

Bellamy knew Clarke wasn’t living here as he’d been to her actual camp. She had obviously spent some time at the Dropship though, punishing herself, probably, before moving further into the forest. He took in the scene before he turned to look at her, and he couldn’t help the sorrow or the pity he knew were reflected in his expression. 

“Love what you’ve done with the place, Princess,” Murphy croaked from his place just behind Bellamy’s elbow. “It gives the ship that little extra _je ne sais quoi_ it’d been missing. Tell me, is that charcoal or the burned remains of your enemy?” 

They both stared at Murphy, Bellamy in disbelief, really, over the shit that came out of his mouth, and Clarke, Bellamy presumed, because she was too nonplussed to do anything else. 

“Right,” Clarke said after a moment. “What is he doing here again?”

Bellamy closed his eyes and ran a hand down his face to pinch the bridge of his nose. “He’s with me,” Bellamy said, trying to infuse enough of a disparaging tone in his response to imply that he clearly thought himself insane but couldn’t help it and has thus accepted his fate. By the judgment in Clarke’s eyebrows and the smug slant to Murphy’s mouth when Bellamy reopened his eyes, he’d succeeded in getting the message across. 

“Don’t worry, Princess,” Murphy said as he tossed an arm over Bellamy’s shoulders, “we’re just hanging out.” 

Bellamy and Clarke stared at each other, both a little shocked, before he slowly turned to face Murphy. “Did you just..?”

Murphy turned to face Bellamy, the tips of their noses brushing; Bellamy could see Murphy’s teeth as a shit-eating grin spread across his face, his eyes glinting with a proud humor as he flicked his gaze to take in Clarke’s reaction too. 

Bellamy looked at Murphy with despair. "I regret ever telling you to express yourself," he said. 

Clarke scrunched her nose made a face at the both of them before she seemingly decided to ignore Murphy’s presence altogether. “You had something to discuss,” she addressed Bellamy.” 

Straight to business then, Bellamy thought with a bit of a wince, wondering to himself exactly how to break the news. 

"Your mother is trying to move Arkadia into Mount Weather," Bellamy said, figuring the blunt delivery was a sure way to change the topic from one he was unwilling to look at too closely himself. He was almost sorry for having been so indelicate, however, as Clarke's face folded at the mention of the Mountain. 

"They're already talking about clearing it out and sending scout teams through," Bellamy continued in a whisper, needing to relay the information but not wanting to punch another hole in the tissue paper-thin subject. "The rest of us can't stay with them, Clarke."

"And what does Jasper have to say about this idea? I notice he isn't in the rotation of people who visit," she replied evenly. 

Bellamy stared at her, trying to figure the best way to word what he was going to say next. 

“This is our tribe, Clarke,” Bellamy finally continued, ignoring the issue with Jasper right now. “They’re our people. But Dante was right; it all comes with a cost, and that’s something we take on so the rest of our people don’t have to. And I think… When we were walking back to Camp,” he glanced at Murphy, “Jaha told us that leadership wasn’t about regret. He’s wrong, though, Clarke, and that’s the major difference. 

"I think that Jaha is a horrible leader, and so is your mom," he said quickly and paused for Clarke to interject, but felt nothing but more exhaustion when she looked away instead. "But we - we’re owning and learning from our regrets because we’re doing them for the others, so they don’t have to and so they’ll survive. That’s leadership, Clarke,” he put one of his hands on her shoulder and bowed down to rest his forehead against hers. “That’s power.” 

“Power,” Clarke repeated with a snear. “We don’t have any power the Grounders respect, Bellamy. This is their land, not ours, and as soon as we run out of bullets…” she trailed off. 

“Don’t do that, don’t think of it that way. We’re the ones who got everyone out of Mount Weather, the Grounders and our own people. _We_ are, not Lexa, not their Coalition, and not the army. They left us, Clarke, but it took us a week, tops, to neutralize a threat the Grounders have been facing for generations. We defeated their main threat here, and we can reverse what has been done to make their people Reavers in a way that doesn’t end in death… We’re the ones with the bargaining chips.”

“For now,” Clarke responds, laying heavy emphasis on the _now_. “The guns won’t work forever, Bellamy. We need bullets, technology, computer terminals… We’re running out of resources and the Ark station is a crash site, not a functioning camp.” 

“Exactly. We need to move on, find new ways…”

“And to survive we need to stay with the rest of the Ark.” 

“No, Clarke, I don't want to survive,” Bellamy spat, losing his train of thought as he became suddenly and impotently furious. “Fucking _float_ surviving. I want to _live_ , do you hear me?! I want to _live_. I want - I want friends and I want safety and I want Octavia to grow up without the possibility of getting a spear through her neck, _damnit_.” He turned on his heel and stalked away a few paces. Bellamy clutched at his hair, looking up at the sky in the Dropship’s clearing and blinking hard. 

He knew his response was from the stress, _knew_ it, but he was still on the verge of tears in the middle of a clearing with Clarke and Murphy. He could organize a Camp - he could _care_ for people, but he was not made for politics, not like Clarke was. 

“I know,” he said, gaze locked on the wide expanse of blue sky, “that the only way to do that is if we align ourselves with the Grounders, with,” he exhaled through his nose and turned, a little repentant for his next words, towards Clarke; “with Lexa.”

She didn't say anything after he'd finished, just huffed and turned her head away, wrapping her arms around herself. After a few moments, however, he could see her thinking about what he’d said.

Bellamy knew that both Octavia and Raven keeping Clarke up-to-date with the happenings at Arkadia; she knew how thinly stretched Bellamy was, how aggressively Abby believed in moving into Mt. Weather, and how poor relations between what remained of the Hundred and the Arkers were. Aligning themselves with the Grounders - separating from Arkadia, at least physically - was the best idea Bellamy could think of, really. 

He wanted to live, actually learn how to _live_ on the Earth and maybe contribute to a society in an equal exchange: Literal Earth skills shown to them by the Grounders and easier, or at least alternate, means of - of aggregation or plumbing or solar power! 

“Making the choice with your head and not your heart,” Clarke exhaled, interrupting Bellamy’s internal monologue.

“I need to keep looking at the bigger picture,” she continued, “you're right, again. I don't need to create another Murphy situation, but I don't want to sacrifice anyone like Finn…” 

“You guys seriously need to stop beating yourselves up for something that happened months ago,” Murphy slanted a look at the both of them from beneath his lashes. “This is all,” he made an abortive motion with an arm. “I don’t know what you’ve accomplished communing with the trees, Princess, or driving yourself crazy, boss.

“I’m just saying,” Murphy continued, turning away from the glare Bellamy was leveling at him and swiping a wrist underneath his nose.

“He’s not wrong, Bellamy,” Bellamy knew the look he sent Clarke at her imperious tone was insulting at the very least, but he couldn't have helped himself in the moment. 

Bellamy knew Murphy wasn’t wrong - he was saying something Bell didn’t _like_ , didn’t necessarily want to hear aloud, but that didn’t make him _wrong_ \- but hearing Clarke defend Murphy, on this subject especially, was a little much. She’d been avoiding Camp and her responsibilities for months, but now that _Murphy_ had said something she was all for moving forward?! 

“But I would sooner kill Lexa than work with her again,” she finished with a dark look and Bellamy took a moment to 

“I’m not saying we should believe anything Lexa promises,” Bell cajoled, stepping forward to lightly place his hands on her upper arms, “just that the Grounders are a better option than the Arkers right now.” He looked between both of her eyes as Clarke’s nostrils flared, her anger towards Lexa’s betrayal and her own actions at TonDC and within Mount Weather warring with what Bellamy was proposing. 

Bellamy turned his head towards Murphy, looking to the other for support, only to blink in surprise. Murphy still stood near, but he’d moved so that his arms were wrapped tightly around himself, his hands leaving white marks in his own biceps where his fingers were gripped tight. Murphy was held himself rigid and was glaring, fixed, in their direction. Bellamy followed Murphy’s livid gaze, perplexed, to his own hands on Clarke, but didn’t understand any more than he had a moment ago. 

Clarke started talking again, distracting Bellamy from Murphy’s odd behaviour. She still didn’t understand exactly why Bellamy was so against living with the rest of the Ark survivors - they were their best chance of power, of _technology_ , a point Clarke was stuck on despite Bell’s instance that tech wasn’t going to do more than help them live, not ensure their survival. She didn’t understand why it was so important, but Clarke eventually and grudgingly agreed that she would be there should Lexa agree to a meeting with the Delinquents, and that was all Bellamy could honestly ask. 

======

It was late by the time they left Clarke’s camp and Bellamy, angry with himself, set a brutal pace. Bell knew Murphy’s thigh still bothered him from where he’d been stabbed by Tristan; the introduction of training into Murph’s routine and the run they’d taken into the forest earlier this morning, fun though it had been, meant that Murphy was struggling to keep up with Bellamy. 

“We can’t rest, Murphy; we’re hardly a half-hour away from Camp and it’s getting dark, if you haven’t noticed. We don’t want to be out here when any of the nocturnal animals start hunting, so get a move on!” 

“I’m not asking for a rest, I’m just saying slow down! I can’t - my leg still hurts from when the Grounders attacked the Drop Ship,” Murphy snarled, obviously resentful over having to verbally acknowledge a shortcoming. “So if you could just not walk like you’re floating _running_ that would be great, boss.” 

Bellamy stopped and turned towards the other, crossing his arms over his chest. He didn’t know why he was pushing this so hard or he was driving the both of them so quickly, especially when Murphy was bent over and clutching at his leg. His only defense was that he felt the arguments from earlier like sand underneath his skin, and the unsettled feeling made him contrary. 

“No.”

Murphy looked at him in astonishment, his mouth momentarily slack-jawed in surprise before it twisted into a snarl and he launched himself at the older man. Bellamy had a moment to think that the training was doing wonders for Murphy - really, he was near the best of the forty-six - before the real downfall of their training together reared its head. 

They were a great team in terms of training, but only as long as Murphy stayed in the role of aggressor; the moment Bellamy attempted to come at Murphy, the latter would flinch aside. Murphy didn’t flinch when training with any of the others, so he still learned defensive moves, but the end result was the Bellamy was used to being pinned by the slighter man and his ingrained defensives seemed to no longer apply where Murphy was concerned. So instead of immediately flipping Murphy when the tackle landed, Bell found himself caught with Murphy’s arm hooked over and above Bellamy's shoulders, the crook of Murphy’s elbow resting at the back of his neck. 

Murphy had been training with the rest of the Delinquents - with Bellamy, specifically - long enough to know that a headlock, a true choke-hold, was done from behind. The hold Murphy had him in instead was such a controlling, possessive maneuver that Bellamy was momentarily staggered, and it took him a moment to unfreeze, pulled, as it was, face-first into the other's neck, before he recuperated enough to place his hands around Murphy's waist. 

Bellamy couldn't help but think that the position was one of trust. True, he wouldn't be able to easily break out of Murphy's hold and Murphy had near complete control over where or how Bellamy could move, but Murphy had to trust that Bellamy, who had use of both his hands and easy access to Murphy's vulnerable areas, wouldn’t harm him too. Bell had no idea if Murphy realized what his actions implied, implicitly or otherwise, but Bellamy - Bellamy had been trying to change how they were to each other, had been trying to show Murphy that he trusted the other. 

Bellamy leaned his head down further so his brow was touching Murphy’s trapezius and more fully wrapped the thinner man within his arms. He inhaled deeply and allowed himself to relax fully into the other in a long, slow exhale. 

Murphy’s breath hitched as his hold turned into a hug, their bodies flush down the front. Bellamy gently pulled the other tighter into the embrace, and sighed again. 

After a moment Murphy pushed the darker brunette away with a hand to the chest, propelling himself backwards as well to lean against the tree behind him. Murphy used his forearm to wipe at his nose, a nervous tick Bellamy had seen the other do countless times, and glanced out into the din of the forest. 

"I don't even know why you came,” Bellamy awkwardly broke the hush that had fallen between them, “you can't have felt up to it." 

“If I’m with you all the time,” Murphy replied in a slow, measured tone, turning to stare at Bellamy with a heavy, blue gaze, “she’ll never have the chance to turn you against me.” The _again_ hadn't been added to the end of sentence, but the sound of its absence resounded about the clearing. 

“You’re mine, Blake,” he added in a deadly tone. “The Princess doesn’t want you anymore and you _owe me_ ,” Murphy licked nervously at his lips. “The Grounders can call me your second or whatever all they want, but you are _mine_.”

Bellamy didn’t have a response to that. The two of them stood silent within the clearing as Murphy rested, the younger still watching Bellamy, his gaze serious and expectant. 

Bellamy didn’t have a response, but he also didn’t have an argument against it. As much as Murphy was his, Bellamy thought, he was just as much Murphy’s. Not in a manner of ownership, but in the sense that they - they had each other and they had each other’s backs. Bell was surprisingly okay with the proprietorial stance Murphy was taking towards their friendship and his shoulders dropped in honest relief as he realized he didn’t have to do this all without support. 

After a moment, Murphy took in a deep inhale through his nose and, on the exhale, pushed himself away from the tree he was leaning against. Bellamy stood still for a moment longer, watching and being watched by the other, before he nodded, an acknowledgement and acceptance in one. They resumed their trek towards camp in silence and in-step. 

======

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “We pull our boots on with both hands  
> but we can't punch ourselves awake and all I can do  
> is stand on the curb and say Sorry  
> about the blood in your mouth. I wish it was mine.
> 
> I couldn't get the boy to kill me, but I wore his jacket for the longest time.” 
> 
> -Richard Siken, “Little Beast” in _Crush_  
> 
> 
> Also I would like it to be noted that the phrase “Bell with judgy eyebrows because it was CLARKE WHO WANTED TO DO THE THING” was honestly a phrase that was once in the text.
> 
> As was: "Clarke exhaled, interrupting Bellamy’s internal monologue - which was probably for the better. Shit was getting a little melodramatic, after all."
> 
> This was not honestly the direction I was going to end this chapter with, but I couldn’t get the words or the scenes to work out as I’d intended. Then I worked the past weekend and didn’t get anything posted… and thus felt bad. Sorry for the delay and poor writing. 
> 
> I am being utterly sincere in my requests for editing critiques; if you see a thing that’s woof, please say the thing.


End file.
